


Aerial Silks, and Other Ways to Fall In Love

by jjjjuicy, orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Circus, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Reluctant Acquaintances to Friends to Crushes to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, God Spites Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Slow Burn, the authors facetimed for 46 hours straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjjuicy/pseuds/jjjjuicy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Richie elbowed Connor, not taking his eyes off of the amazing performer.“She’s kinda hot, right? I mean, short hair, flat tits, not usually my type, but, damn, can she move her body.” Richie whispered at him, blindly shoving popcorn in his mouth. He felt him shift to look at Richie, so he tore his eyes away and looked.Connor blinks at him like he’s an idiot. “That’s a man, dumbass.”ORThe 1950’s circus au where Richie’s part of a gang that hates Eddie and his circus-freak friends, even though he most certainly does not.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Original Female Character(s), Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Connor Bowers/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 111
Kudos: 276





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> tysm to our friend jasmin for giving us the idea for this circus au! hope you all enjoy <3

“Let go.” Eddie says, staring at the thick hand wrapped around his shaking arm; he slowly brings his eyes up to the woman holding on him with a grip tight enough to leave bruises, doing his best to burn his hatred into her skin with his eyes. The woman doesn’t falter, instead staring back with false worry that makes Eddie’s stomach churn.

“You know I can’t do that, Eddie-bear. You know that. I care about you too much.” She answers. The words tumble out of her mouth in a way that had comforted Eddie like a pillow as he grew up, but now smother him and leave him gasping for air. The too-sweet words continue, but Eddie pays no mind. A burning in his stomach and the taste of Pepto-Bismol on his tongue keep him moving as he tugs his arm again.

“Let me go, Sonia.”

“Don’t call me that, baby, it hurts me. It hurts me. I’m your _mother.”_

“I said, let go!” Eddie raises his voice, and with a final pull, he swings his free arm around to hit her across the head. He watches his mother’s face crumple in shock. Nevertheless, her fingers unravel and Eddie stumbles back to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off of her in case she decides to pounce. “I’m sorry,” He says, unaware of when he decided to apologize. Despite his trembling, he finds his way to the door, to the doorknob, behind his back. “I’m sorry, momma.” 

“Eddie-bear…” Sonia says slowly, voice light and airy despite the anger flickering in her eyes. She looks at him like he’s prey, like he’s something to conquer, to control. He’s lived too long thinking that’s all he was, but he knows it’s not true- and now he’s eighteen. Now she can’t keep him here.

He opens the door. Before Eddie could get outside, soft cries could be heard behind him. “Eddie, baby, you can’t leave me here.” Sonia had started to cry. It was a way she always had manipulated Eddie when she wanted something from him. But she wasn’t going to get any sympathetic reaction now. Eddie turned around, doing his best to stack his shoulders and straighten his spine rather than cowering.

“Ma, stop.” His hand rests on the doorknob, wrist ready to spring into action.

Sonia doesn’t comply; her crying turns into blubbering. “You can’t leave me here,” She sniffed. “You can’t. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t!” Her words started slow, but progressively get louder and faster, becoming a yell. Eddie flinches. 

“Get back inside. Now.”

“No.”

“Eddie.” Her little game didn’t work, and now Sonia had a look of anger on her face. It was a look Eddie had seen many times, but never like this. He stands his ground, shaking his head. “Edward. Inside. _Now_.” He continued the motion mindlessly as she stepped towards him. 

“Eddie—”

“No! Stop!”

Sonia stopped. Her eyes bore into Eddie’s. “Excuse me?” He started to shake again.

“I’m eighteen. You can’t do anything.” Eddie explains, his throat bobbing as he holds back the sting behind his eyes. “If you try to grab me, it’s assault, and I’ll phone the police. Don’t _fucking_ test me, Sonia.”

“You’ll come back , Eddie-bear. You’ll see. You’ll come back.”

The first thing that gets to Eddie is the cold spring air of March snaking around his legs and bare arms. A chill is sent down his spine, and Eddie wishes he had had the sense to grab a jacket before making sure he could never show his face at home again. He imagines himself knocking on the door of his old home, grabbing a jacket and leaving again, and then the thought sends a laugh from his lips; the noise pulled out of him so suddenly that it startles him, causing him stop in the middle of the street just to ogle at the absurdity of his situation. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, a few miles from home, with nowhere to go and nobody to find.

He wasn’t smart enough to grab a coat, but he did manage to grab his savings before leaving, resulting in just over twenty dollars to sit in his pocket. The only thing he’d allow himself to use the money for is for food and a bus ticket. That’s how Eddie ended up here, staring at a dirty bus station seat, with the daunting thought of _If no bus comes soon, this where I’m going to sleep tonight._

He sits down. The cool metal retained a chill from the weather that Eddie can feel through his pants, and on his sleeveless arms once he lays. He sighs and closes his eyes, his back unsupported with the promise of a soreness in the morning and a million kinds of germs crawling on his skin. Eddie doesn’t move until he hears a bus some time later. He doesn’t have a watch, but it felt like a long time.

The bus is dirty when he boards it, as expected, and he pays the ten cent fare before taking his seat to wherever the bus is going to take him, until he gets thrown off or makes it across the world.

The seats are black, uncomfortable, and ripped up, so Eddie could stick his finger into the foam of the seat if he wanted. However, he doesn’t want to stick his finger anywhere on this bus. It rolls on. A few people board, but none of them strike Eddie’s interest until a tall boy that couldn’t be much older than him takes a seat on the isle across from Eddie with a red suitcase and a non threatening gait. When he sits, it’s breezy and soft, rather than a tired plop. His posture makes Eddie seem like a question mark compared to him, so he straightens his spine and wonders where the boy is going, what his name is- he’s probably not a runaway. He probably has a job and a girlfriend and two parents who love him.

Eddie has none of that. Eddie also doesn’t have a single fucking clue of what he’s going to do next, and that terrifies him. Eddie doesn’t have a future.

Eddie has nothing, until the bus hits a pothole. Though he doesn’t know it at the time, he owes the pothole his future. The boy’s red suitcase wobbles and falls over into the isle- Eddie immediately leans over and grabs it at the same time the boy does, but gets to it first and holds it out to him.

“Here you go.” Eddie says.

“Thank you.” The other boy takes the suitcase, his eyes trailing to Eddie’s hand. “Are you a gymnast?” Eddie notes how his voice was hesitant and slow, as if he had to focus on every syllable. 

“What?”

“Your hand. There’s calluses- are you a gymnast?”

“Oh. Yes.” Eddie answers, because it’s true. His mother hated it, but he insisted he needed exercise to be healthy, and she had finally started listening to him when he turned fourteen. He had a late start, but he had always been very limber and flexible because his mother would allow him to do yoga- “It’s very safe, Eddie”- and Eddie jumped at the chance of doing _anything._ He caught on quickly and as his skill grew through the years, his palms had developed lines of hardened skin across them, too. 

Eddie expected the conversation to end there.

“So, you’re flexible?”

“I- excuse me?”

“Can’t you hear?”

“Yes!” Eddie stares at the boy with wide eyes and swallows. “Yes, I’m- _flexible.”_

“How flexible?”

“I think-”

“I’m starting a circus, and the only requirements are that you’re willing to join and even more willing to work your ass off.”

_There’s worse ideas._

“I don’t know any circus tricks.”

“Then I hope you’re a fast learner. What’s your name?”

__________

Eddie charges into his dressing room, shuffling through item after item in the mess that is the backstage of a circus. He pushes through costumes and hula hoops and a cheap diablo he bought for practicing that he already lost the string to, frantically searching. When he comes up empty handed, he leaves his room and barges into the one over, walking in on a dirty blonde boy with floppy hair and in shorts that are tight enough to stop circulation.

“Eddie! What the fuck?” Stan says, frowning. Neither of them pay much mind to Stan’s exposed body, as Eddie’s seen it plenty before- it’s his standard outfit for performance, not for anything dirty.

“I need to borrow some wrap.”

“Use your own!”

“I can’t find it!”  
  


“Then fucking… _die.”_

“You have extra wrap, Stan.”

Stan juts his head to the side at the direction of the pale colored hand wrap for Eddie’s blistering skin- the constant practice on trapeze and lyra eats at the skin on his hand until they’re bleeding or covered in calluses or sometimes both. Stan’s room is much different than Eddie’s- impeccably organized, while Eddie’s is currently a mess. It’s not usually like that, but sometimes he forgets to clean and has to remind himself that it’s _okay_ , that he’s not going to die of a sickness from the mess like his mother had always insisted before he left over a year ago. Sometimes it’s okay to be a little messy.

Sometimes.

Eddie will have to clean his room soon. For now, though, Stan’s wrap will do. “Thanks.” He says, picking it up and unraveling the roll the proper length before starting to bring it around his wrist and hand and securing it. He tears it at the end when he’s done, flexes his hand a few times, and then smiles.

“One hour!” A voice calls from outside the dressing room, clear and crisp and distinctly Bill. Seconds later, his head pops in. “Where’s E- oh. I had Joyce let down the silks early so you can get in a few practice climbs, Eddie. Stan, you’re on lyra today.”

“I know.”

“Stretch, okay? Your hips were too tight in rehearsal yesterday and you almost fell from that muscle spasm.”

“I didn’t know you saw that. I was fine, by the way. I’ll stretch.”

“Okay. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Bill says. Then he looks to Eddie. “You stretch, too. Don’t be dumb.”

“What would I do without my glorious ringleader to tell me such sage advice, such as stretch?” Eddie deadpans, and then flips Bill off. Bill returns the gesture before slipping out with a laugh and going to do whatever he does before a show, which Eddie is convinced is either heroin or cocaine or a mixture of both. There’s the sound of a weight dropping onto the ground that Eddie has come to associate with Mike’s long training hours. Mike is strong- it’s his whole act- but of course, they’re a circus, and some of it is illusion. Eddie always loves to watch the act. Sometimes, he wishes he were built like Mike so he could gain muscles easily and look like how boys are supposed to- chiseled, fit, and masculine. Then girls would be all over him, like how they are in movies when the protagonist has a foot thick biceps and a jawline to kill. However, his nimble body allows him to be able to do lyra and silks, so maybe sacrificing girls isn’t that bad. Eddie would choose the circus over a girl, any day. He’s never been interested.

“Okay. Get out of my room.”

“See you, Stanny.” Eddie laughs and begins to leave.

“Don’t fall!”

“Yeah. As if.”

__________

“Don’t be such a pussy, Tozier.”

“I’m not a pussy.” Richie presses himself up from leaning on the wall to glare at Henry Bowers, who glares right back. Richie’s a new member of the gang they have, ever since he met Bowers’ cousin, Connor, at a shitty diner and helped him out when he got caught dining and dashing- a stupid, small crime to get caught for, really, which was why Richie took it upon himself to chuck a glass of maple syrup at the wall. Overall, not the most well orchestrated crime, but both of them got out of there and Richie made a good first impression; one thing led to another, and now Richie hangs out with Henry. Henry has a whole little group of goons that follow him- Richie likes to think he isn’t a mindless goon, but who is he kidding?- that included Patrick Hockstetter, who’s burned a lot of things down and probably killed someone, Vic Criss, who’s only discernible personality trait is being blonde and good with a knife, and Belch Huggins, who burps a lot and also likes hitting people. Then, of course, Connor, who would be second-in-command. _If_ Henry Bowers didn’t rule his gang as a dictator, that is. Connor is quieter than Richie had first expected- soft in places than Henry is not. It leads to a lot of ridicule from the others, and Richie joins in most of the time, but the flicker of shame that passes over Connor’s face before he can wipe it off always hits Richie like a punch to the gut.

“There’s a circus show tonight.” Patrick Hockstetter mentions casually. Richie follows the voice upwards and sees Patrick’s thin body seated atop some unsturdy boxes.

“Holy hell. I thought they were closed.” Vic whines in a voice not unlike a little girl’s.

“They weren’t closed. They just had to patch up the tent.”

Vic laughs. “I tore that red and white hellhole pretty good, though.”

“Focus it on the fucking freaks next time. Can’t patch ‘em up if their guts are on the floor.” 

Richie laughs and fixes his glasses as they slip down his nose. “We’ll teach them a lesson. Tonight. To get the fuck out of our town.” Henry says. “You in, pussy?”

“I’m not a pussy!” Richie flips him off- Henry doesn’t react, instead just glaring at Richie like a dog about to pounce.

“Then you can do the honors.”

“The honors.”

“We’re gonna make circus pot pie.”

Richie blinks. “That sounds gross.”

“See you tonight, Tozier.” Henry starts off, then pauses and looks over his shoulder at the last second. “Connor?”

“Coming.” Connor scurries off behind his cousin, hands in his pocket. Richie doesn’t expect the glance over the shoulder he receives from the younger Bowers, but the dread it contains certainly confuses him more than he already is. Henry Bowers _hates_ the circus. He hates anybody different than him.

Richie wonders just how far Bowers would go to get the circus out of town. 

**_____**

  
  
  


Richie pulled into the gravel parking lot, swerving and braking much quicker than he should have. In the car with him is Henry Bowers and the rest of his gang, in all of their immature and semi-murderous glory.

“Let’s go kill us some fucking clowns!” Belch laughed right in his ear, making his hands jerk so quickly he was glad the car was in park already. He lets out a frustrated sigh through his nose, contemplates sending his fist into Blech’s stupid fucking mouth, and then decides against it.

The gang files out, ironically flowing out like a clown car, seeing as Richie’s car was an old four-seater, and there were six people stuffed into it. The thought makes him laugh, but he doesn’t share his thoughts with anyone when prompted by an odd glance from Connor because he’d like to keep his very large front teeth right where they are, thank you very much.

Everyone laughed and shouted at Belch’s not-very-witty comment, going up to the tent at an inconvenient angle just so Vic could run his knife alongside it as they ran to the entrance. Richie rolled his eyes at how stupidly obvious they were, then started jogging just to keep up. It wasn’t like anyone could stop them since the circus didn’t make enough money to hire security. Once they got inside, Richie practically short-circuited. He hadn’t been to the circus before, but apparently going here and shouting obscenities at the performers was a not-so-rare event in the Bowers gang. The smell of sweat and popcorn didn’t compliment each other, and the loud clamoring of the crowd starting to file in didn’t help, either. All of the mixed senses were too overwhelming, and suddenly Richie found he felt some of the same anger Bowers must have because he felt the seething redness inside him. He was going to sit in a smelly, gross tent for an hour and he can’t even stand a minute, and these people _live_ here? He can only imagine those who are subject to working in such a horrible place have to be truly abominable creatures.

“Hey, Con!” Richie called out, seeing as they were always the last two left sitting behind the rest of the gang. He noted when Connor scowled at the nick-name, and decided he’d have to use it again later. Just to piss him off.

“What?” He turned to Richie sharply, hands in his pockets and Keds dragging in the dirt. 

“Wanna grab some popcorn? I’ll pay.” Richie pulled two quarters and a dime out of his pocket, clinking them together right in Connor’s face. He grabbed his wrist and shoved it away, clearly stifling a laugh. 

“Henry would hate us supporting the circus.” Connor laughs.

“We’ll tell him it’s to throw.”

They walked towards the stand, Richie throwing a hand to his mouth when he saw a boy who didn’t look older than nine wearing a white polo and khakis _,_ clothes much older than him. The boy, upon seeing the two, tossed on a red-and-white striped cap to match the apron he had loosely tied around his waist and grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. Richie and Connor looked at each other, thinking the same thing.

_How the hell does such a cute kid come from such fucking weirdos?_

“Two popcorns, please,” Richie said hesitantly, pushing up his glasses while Connor just looked at the boy.

He got their two bags, and handed them over the counter a little too enthusiastically, spilling a few pieces onto their feet. 

“Here ya go!” He grinned so brightly, Richie couldn’t help but smile back. “That’ll be fifty-eight cents, please!”

Connor grabbed the bags, spilling some more on their shoes.

“Here,” Richie dropped the coins into the little boy’s palm. He grabbed his bag from Connor, tossing a couple of pieces into his mouth and letting the hot butter burn his tongue. “You know what? Keep the change for yourself, kid. Go buy some penny candy, or whatever.”

He smiled again- _did this kid know how to smile and_ not _make Richie want to, too?_

“Thanks!”

As they walked away, Connor got Richie right in the ribs with his elbow. 

“ _Fuck_ , dude, what was that for?” He wheezed, the wind not-quite knocked out of him. Connor looked at him like he’s crazy, glaring at Richie with a mix of anger and fear.

“Dude, you just intentionally gave a circus worker cash! If Henry finds out, your ass is _out_ ,” Connor worriedly tossed an entire handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“So? The kid couldn’t be even ten. He’ll probably go spend it on some chocolate or whatever. I… hate these freaks, too, but that was probably the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen. It was two fucking cents, Connor.”

Connor nodded in agreement, eyes on the ground. “Richie…This shit isn’t a joke. Henry _hates_ them.”

“C’mon,” Richie said, shoving him on the shoulder and pointing behind them. “I believe you owe me a cigarette,”

“A very fair trade for some popcorn,” Connor noted sarcastically.

“Obviously,” Richie deadpanned.

They walked out to Richie’s truck, the gravel crunching beneath their feet being the only noise except for the muffled sounds coming from the circus-goers in the tent.

“D’ya have a light?” Connor asked once they got to the truck.

Richie nods as Connor holds the cigarette to his lips; Richie fumbles in his pocket for the lighter and pulls it out, flicking his thumb against it to ignite the flame. Connor takes a puff and promptly blows it in Richie’s face.

“Wow. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

There’s a passing moment where they say nothing.

“Why are we out here, Connor?” Richie asks. He looks out to the parking lot rather than at his friend beside him, who is, in turn, looking at him.

Connor shakes his head. “What…” He clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why did we come out here? Alone?”

Connor blinks at him, weary, and doesn’t say anything for a second. “To get away from Henry, I guess.”

“You don’t like him much, even if he’s your cousin.”

“He’s an asshole. About a lot of things.” Connor looked away, blowing smoke in the exact opposite direction . 

“Things.” Richie repeats. “Okay.”

“I think we should go back inside.”

Richie nods. “Me, too.”

_____

When Richie and Connor make it back inside the tent, Henry and Patrick’s loud shouting is already easy to hear, but nobody quiets them- a reputation of knife-wielding and violence precedes them, afterall. The performers are clearly used to it, by now. While this is Richie’s first experience with the gang at the “freak show”, it’s not the freak show’s first experience with the gang. The two find their seats with the group and sit shoulder to shoulder, immediately greeted with two hands sinking into their popcorn, and then a third taking it away all together (Connor’s whiny protest being ignored). Richie watches the scene going on the stage, trying to ignore as Henry shouts something obscene at the man on stage, who is walking the tightrope. The man is extremely fit with a light stubble, and Richie’s close enough to see him in detail. The man is able to do a few jumps, walk backwards, and eventually does some sort of kick-over that lands him on his feet on the wire. The crowd erupts into cheers and the lights go out. The tent is in silence as the light comes back on, and a flowing silk descends from the ceiling.

He’s silent as another light flashes on, this time focusing on a woman on the ground, who softly glowered in the light. 

Richie watches in awe as she moves, absorbing the graceful movements against the red silks. “Fall!” Vic calls out, and Richie finds himself turning around with vigor and telling him to shut his mouth before he carves his name on his forehead. He turns back to the act, transfixed on the performer.

On the performance, he means.

Richie stares-he wouldn’t quite say _helplessly_ , but that was probably the best word to describe it- as the performer used her somewhat muscular frame to climb up the silks. She was so fast, Richie thought she was flying. She spun and spun, did a weird flip thing that he thought was honestly really cool, but his favorite part was when she went down. She did a combination of things to accomplish that, but every spin and flip and roll had Richie’s full attention, despite Henry’s jeers (“ _Fumble! Fall!_ ”). 

He elbowed Connor, not taking his eyes off of the amazing performer. 

“She’s kinda hot, right? I mean, short hair, flat tits, not usually my type, but _damn_ can she move her body.” Richie whispered at him, blindly shoving popcorn in his mouth. He felt him shift to look at Richie, so he tore his eyes away and looked. 

Connor blinks at him like he’s a fucking idiot. “That’s a man, dumbass. What are you, a fag?”

Richie’s eyes went wide, and he looked at the performer, who, now that he knew, definitely had shoulders broader than a womans’, and a waist more inverted than a womans’, and _Holy fuck am I stupid._

Richie laughed it off with another shove at Connor’s shoulder. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. _He_ probably is just a little sissy queer boy, though, look at all that makeup he has on!” He said, way too defensively. 

Connor looked at him up and down. “Yeah.”

They watched another _man_ do some cool shit on a tied-up metal hula hoop, but Richie didn’t find himself as invested. He’d blame it on the freaks putting on a boring show, but that was almost hypocritical.

_____

Henry puts his cigarette on the wall and stares at the flap of the circus tent like it’s offended him; just inside is props and sets and people that he hates, and Richie has no idea what Henry intends to do with them.

“Back up.” Henry says over his shoulder. “We don’t want anyone to see us when they come out.” Nobody reacts fast enough, so Henry spins around. “Are you deaf?”

“Come on.” Connor says and marches down- there’s a trash can they could duck behind near by, and Connor leads them there.

Henry follows last, but keeps glaring at the tent rather than hiding like the rest of them. The flap moves slightly and Henry almost jumps at it, causing Richie to flinch. Out comes a frail-bodied boy in sweatpants and a short shirt that Richie recognizes from the show, but from no particular act. He knows it’s not the one that he had taken an interest in, because he knows there’s no way he’d forget _him_.

“Do ya think-” Belch starts, but is quickly hushed with a slap on the back of the head from Patrick, who’s pulled out his knife.

Richie’s eyes widen. “Is that really necessary, Patrick?” Richie asks slowly. Patrick doesn’t answer, but he does glare at Richie so intensely that he feels like he’s a dog being scolded, so he clears his throat and looks away.

“Hey, freak!” Henry calls out, making the performer jump. Before, he had been distracted with a hole in the bottom of the bag allowing a few items to fall out, but now he’s frozen in spot and staring at Henry. His eyes travel across to the other five.

Richie has to give it to him- for his situation, he keeps a calm composure. Richie bites his lip. Here he is, crouched behind an actual dumpster because _Henry_ told him to, while a boy who is much skinnier and much shorter than him has his shoulders squared and is looking Henry in the eyes.

“I’m not just a freak. I also do lyra.” The boy says blandly, blinking in the face of danger. Richie can hear the click of Patrick flipping open his switchblade knife. His mouth goes dry. There’s no way they’re gonna kill this kid, right? He can’t be much younger than them. Patrick begins walking behind Henry, which queues Vic and Belch.

“Connor-”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.”

“Connor, Patrick has a knife. He’s not going to kill him, right?”

Connor pauses. 

“No.”

“You hesitated. Connor.”

“I said to shut the fuck up.”

Connor stands up and suddenly Richie is choked as he’s dragged to his feet by the back of his jacket, being brought alongside him despite his pounding heart and shaky hands.

“Wash off that fucking makeup.” Connor calls out as he lets go of Richie. The clicking of Patrick’s knife continues as he opens and closes it, and Richie can still feel pressure around his neck like Connor’s hand is still there with his shirt balled in his fist.

“Only freaks and faggots wear makeup.” Patrick hisses, casually pointing his knife towards the performer like he was holding a feather and not a deadly weapon. “So, which is it?”

The performer doesn’t respond.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s not polite to ignore people?” Henry adds on.

“You didn’t hear me?” The boy says, staring them all down. A clump is being formed around him, and the bottom of the trash bag has started to rip some more. Some of the contents spilled on the ground. “I said I was a freak. I also said I did lyra, too. In the show. Did you come for an autograph?” His face remains collected, but his voice and the rest of his body tell a different story. His grip on the garbage bag is iron-clad and tense, and there’s no way to ignore the shake in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up, fairy.” Vic snarls, clearly not liking the idea of being perceived as a fan of something as disgusting as a freak.

“Fairy, freak, faggot.” The boy answers. “You must like the letter F. Want to know another word you can use?” He takes a step closer, towards Henry. “ _Fuck_ you.” He spits at the ground by his feet.

Henry barely let the spit land before he threw a hook at his jaw- the skinny boy’s body immediately spins and collapses to the ground, and Richie has to fight back a gasp at how quickly he had _dropped,_ like a dead weight.

Richie heard him groan from the floor, weak and helpless and making Richie _boil_ inside, because who the fuck would want to do that to somebody? Except that’s not really a question, because Henry Bowers sends his shoe flying into the boy’s gut, releasing the ghost of a scream from lungs with no air. And for just a brief moment, Richie wonders what it would be like to be in that position- to not even be able to breathe, to be surrounded, to be hunted.

Richie does not want to be hunted.

“Tozier, you better not pussy out or I’ll-!” Richie doesn’t wait for Henry to finish his threat, because he knows that whatever it is, Henry will do it. Instead, he tells himself to man up. He draws his foot back.

He kicks.

He expects for police cars to pull up, or for someone to reprimand him, or for something to stop him, but nothing does. Nothing happens. Richie feels sick- nobody should be able to do this- nobody should be able to get away with this-

“Connor!” Belch shouts. Richie pulls back to look at the aforementioned member of the gang to see Connor facing the tent entrance.

“I just thought… What if another one of the freakshow comes out and calls the cops? I’m making sure no one comes out.”

“If you get your ass over here now, I’ll let you have the honors of breaking the fag’s nose.” Belch bargained, to which Connor nodded warily and abandoned his post. Richie was sure he was promised those “honors” earlier, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. _God, I’m going to burn in hell. Me and these assholes._

He feels a cool metal pressed into his hand and he almost jumps, but looks to see that Patrick had placed his knife there with a wicked grin. It has blood on it. Richie didn’t even realize Patrick had used it. He might throw up. Did he stab him? “Do it.” Patrick eggs on. Richie stares at him, bewildered. “Freak filet.”

“I thought- I thought it was pot pie.” Richie says nervously. 

“It’s fucking fun, is what it is. Do it.”

Richie turns to the boy in the center- the others have backed up to let Richie have a good angle, leaving him panting and bleeding. Richie doesn’t think he can do it.

He doesn’t figure out if he can or not. Instead, pain crashes over his head and makes it feel like his whole head is spinning as he hears the sound of something clatter around him. He finds himself on the ground with something poking into his skin.

“ _STAN!”_ A voice gasps from behind him. When Richie looks up at the bleary figure, it’s the boy he had been watching at the show with half of a broken glass bottle in his hand. If he weren’t possibly concussed, Richie would laugh- being hit over the head with a bottle wasn’t funny like it was in Tom and Jerry- it was sharp _and_ heavy. If glittering glass had cascaded down his shoulders like the cartoons, he was down too fast to see it. 

“Fuck,” Richie murmored, lifting a hand to the back of his head and pulling it back, revealing blood on his fingertips. 

“Leave him the fuck alone, you assholes! He was taking out the fucking trash for me! I’m not sure how the fuck that offended you, but you can take it up with me, instead!” Richie looked up, seeing double, hearing a shrill voice turn to calm defiance.

_Thank fuck_ , was all Richie could think while forcing himself onto his feet, _a reason to wuss out._ Still struggling, he feels Connor’s arm loop under his armpits and heave him up like how he did at the dumpster, except this time it’s slower and Connor keeps a stabilizing hand on Richie’s forearm so he doesn’t fall over.

Henry bared his teeth like a goddamn predator, holding his hand out for Patrick’s knife (Henry thankfully _lost_ his about a month ago chasing an unfortunate kid who had stolen a nickel from him, but was able to run away fast enough). Richie feels Connor’s hand touch his, confusing him for a second before he feels the knife being tugged from his hand and passed to Henry.

“Oh, look! The fairy’s here to save his boyfriend. Is that a man under all that makeup? Or just a girly-boy?” Henry turned to the new boy, Richie noticed he did have on much more makeup than the one on the ground- Stan. Or maybe their fists had peeled it off.

“Henry. Let’s just go. He’s hurt.” Connor says about Richie, then motions to Stan. “And we fucked him up more than enough.” He swallowed. The boy in front of them is still holding out the sharp bottle like a weapon and shaking with rage. “Their stupid show is canceled at least for tonight-”

“So, you should go. Or I’ll call the police. They’ll catch your idiot group of assholes one day. You better hope it’s not today.”

Henry laughed. “Okay, girly-boy. We’ll make sure you’re next.” The group disbands with hoots and laughter, Connor and Richie at the back, going slow because Richie’s still seeing double. They don’t make it far before there’s a hand on his shoulder turning him around, and he’s face to face with the bottle-wielding boy.

“I know you think you’re so tough with your dull, rusty knife and your leather jackets, but I see you. I know you’re just an unloved and lonely little piece of shit that has nothing better to do than hurt people. You hear me? I see it. I see how sad and insecure and _pathetic_ you are. You got that? _Do you?”_

“Give it up, girly-boy.” Connor growls.

Richie just blinks at him. “You did good on the silks, yesterday.”

The boy looks at Richie, chest rising up and down for a few moments and fists shaking at his sides. “Fuck you.”

_____

The door opens and Bill walks softly into Stan’s ‘room’. It’s not much of a _room_ , really, but it’s how they all live- a shoddy mattress on the floor, taking up floor space they all honestly would rather use for their supplies. This is where Stan is now, with an ice pack across his bare stomach. His actual injuries hadn’t been too severe. No broken nose, although it had been threatened. He has bruises in a lot of places and the lanky one they had called Patrick had cut a line across his thigh, but it was nothing he couldn’t recover from. Bruises from lyra were common, so he had them often.

Just not this much.

“Are you feeling better?” Bill asks softly. He kneels by the side and takes the warming icepack away from Stan, slowly placing the new one he brought in on to replace it. Stan hisses from the cold, sitting up to make the distance easier for Bill. 

“Yeah. Just sore. But you don’t have to worry about me.” Stan answers, shaking his head. He could have fought back, at least, instead of dropping like a fly. He could have fought back when they called him a freak, but he knows it’s true. He knows it, so what’s the point of fighting it? It was six to one, so he would have gotten rocked regardless.

“I’m worried about you.” Bill replies, his hand going to rest on Stan’s shoulder. Stan looks at the hand, then back up to Bill. “I- because- I don’t think you can go on tomorrow.”

Stan’s eyes widen. “I’ve performed with worse bruises! This is exactly what they wanted. Bill-“

Bill’s eye’s wander around the room, landing around Stan’s head but never on him. “You’re not going on. I guess they’ll get what they want.” 

“You’re not my parent. I’m performing. It’s-it’s on the set!” Stan moves his head, trying to catch himself in Bill’s view, but the ringmaster remains adamant not to give him that.

“Kay can take over for the next few days.”

“ _Days_?!”

“Joyce doesn’t think-“

“Joyce,” Stan laughs grimly, glaring at Bill. Joyce, the stage manager, who obviously has final say in everything recently. Bill’s back straightens up and he presses his lips together. “Of course it was Joyce,” Stan shook his head spitefully, saying the name like it hurts. 

“Stan, the people who hurt you are angry, horrible people. They’re filled with hate because they can’t understand anything outside themselves. And if they see someone they want gone on stage-“ His voice cracks, and Stan’s stomach flips. “Stan, if you got hurt- or-or worse, I could never forgive myself. You can’t-“

“Bill,” Stan stops him quietly. At some point, Bill’s hand on his arm had travelled down, resting on top of Stan’s hand. Bill sucks in some air, staring into Stan’s eyes with his, the whites of his eyes slowly turning red from stifled tears. “Fine. A week.”

“Two.” Bill counters.

“Ten days.”

Bill pauses. “Fine,” He says, then looks down to their meeting hands. Immediately, he jerks back and stands up, stepping away quickly. “If you need anything...” His voice trails off. “Ask Ben. Or Eddie. I’m busy.”

Stan swallows, his throat tight, and nods.

Bill leaves, and doesn’t close the door behind him. Stan looks at the ceiling, unwilling to watch him walk away.

**_____**

Eddie feels the familiar pressure of the aerial silks against his inner thigh, pulled taught by his foot locked in a footlock as he pulls himself into his next position. Like always, if there is any jeering or cheering, he doesn’t hear, too focused on the craft- the way the silk drapes around his body, the way his hands grip, the way he knows he’s secure when he lets go and drops due to the intricate weaving he’s learned. Today, he’ll have to do a double act on the silks, and then move to lyra, since the allotted time for Stan needs to be filled. He’d definitely be sore and tired after the show, but that’s what circus is about. Nobody does this shit unless they really love it. Normally, when he performs, it’s like a dance. He loses all sense of the world around him, but as he’s wrapping for a mermaid drop…

He stops cold.

In the third row is a pair of glasses on the same face that had been at the back of the tent by the dumpsters the days before. He knows he looks too long to play it off because he misses his musical cue and has to scramble to catch up, hoping nobody notices. He completes his act despite the distraction. When the Bowers gang is there, Eddie almost doesn’t realize. His brain shuts off and ignores them.

So, why is the one in glasses here? Alone?

Had Eddie hitting him over the head with a bottle not sent a clear enough message?

He’s able to easily make his way to the lyra and power through the routine despite it not supposed to be an angry one, but he can’t really help it- he doesn’t want Glasses to be here. He wants him to leave. He wants to beat him over the head with _another_ bottle because of how he treated Stan. The act is choppy and certainly not his best, but when he bows at the end, the delight from the audience proves they didn’t notice.

Eddie glances around the crowd, smiling and searching for the face again, but only finding an empty spot where a boy should be. Relieved, he walks off for the next act to get on- Ben turns the lights out from backstage as Kay and Elliot walk on to take their place for their magic act. Eddie hauls ass backstage to get a drink of water and calm down his racing heart- from anger or exercise, he doesn’t know. He finds himself making his way to Stan’s tent to vent, but he quickly realizes he shouldn’t tell Stan that the boy who held a knife to his less than twenty-four hours ago is outside.

“Hey. Did you do good?” Stan asks as Eddie comes in.

“Of course I did good. Asshole.”

“I would have been better.”

“Probably,” Eddie says, but still flips his friend off anyway. Stan chuckles, and then winces, bringing them both back to reality. “Good thing we have a few days off. I’m starting to get sore.”

“Poor you,” Stan says flatly. 

Eddie opens his mouth, wanting to tell him that some of the Bowers’ gang is here. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s keeping a secret. However, he knows better. “Ben almost dropped the light. Threw me for a second.” He ends up settling on, even if it’s not true. Ben has been excellent at all of the technology that Eddie doesn’t understand- spotlights and machines that play music that Ben excitedly tried to explain used vibrations to function, but Eddie got lost and decided he’d just stick to silks.

Stan sighs loudly. “I wish you had fallen so you wouldn’t leave me to rot in here.”

“Rot? This is our _job!_ I literally _have_ to perform,”

“At least Ben came in to keep me company. At least _someone_ cares,”

Eddie laughs. “I hate you. I’m gonna leave, just to spite you.”

“You love me. You’re leaving for final bows,”

“Perhaps. Whatever. Shut up.”

Eddie sends a two finger salute before leaving, feeling happy and much more calm than he was before. Stan was laughing and Glasses is gone, and he has to go out for his final applause soon. That’s good. That’s great, actually, and Eddie will be calm.

Taking his bows are the same as every night. He smiles and waves and enjoys the applause and-

And Glasses is standing at the very back, arms crossed, hiding behind the seating.

Eddie doesn’t go backstage once the music stops and queues him to leave the stage- instead, he makes a beeline for Glasses, ready to tell him off. Unfortunately, on the way there, a crowd of people rush past him and he loses sight, desperately trying to make his way through the group of exiting circus goers. Once he finally pushes through, he sees Glasses still there. And looking directly at him.

Eddie sees red. He charges.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks, not bothered by the fact that he’s actually in a black skin tight suit. He could kick this guy’s ass in any outfit available. “You need to leave, now.”

“Wait-”

“I don’t give a fuck why you’re here. I really don’t care if you’re here to kill me. I’m going to beat the shit out of you, _right now-”_

“I said-”

“I don’t care what you said, maniac! _I_ said you need to _leave._ And you’re still here!” Eddie’s fists are balled up at his side. “If there weren’t people still in this tent, I would have fucking strangled you by now.”

“Like you could.”

“Excuse me? You want to find out?”

“Wait. Shit. This isn’t how-”

“I’ll call the police!” Eddie brings his hands up and-

Glasses grabs his wrists. “I’m here to apologize!”

Eddie pauses. “Apologize?” His hands go slightly limp, and then suddenly the anger boils up in him again. “Well, I’m not apologizing for this.” His hands may be restrained, but he sends his knee flying up into the other boy’s groin, immediately getting a reaction. His wrists are released as Glasses doubles over. “I don’t know why you came here alone,” He says slowly. “And I don’t want to find out.”

For some reason, he doesn’t feel it’s necessary to watch Glasses walk out. He already knows he’s going to leave.

Eddie walks backstage without a second look.

**_____**

When Eddie awakens purely of his own conviction rather than the sound of Bill crashing through his room and ripping off his sheets, demanding he gets up to stretch, he is reminded that today is a day with no performances. This means that he has the day purely to himself, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not going to spend it in the tent anyway. Unless he finds something better to do- which he usually doesn't.

Thankfully, after about an hour and a half of cleaning (his default when he has time- at least he found his damn wrap), Georgie bursts in, providing him with something to do. He flops onto Eddie’s freshly made bed, effectively crumpling the sheets Eddie had just laid down. 

“I’m _bored_ , Eddie,” He complained, drawing out the last letter of ‘bored’. Georgie always came to Eddie first, which surprised him when he first showed up, seeing as Ben’s room, or even Stan’s room was closer. Maybe Georgie felt more welcomed around Eddie, like he could go and complain to him whenever Bill pushed him away. Which was a rare occurrence, until a few months ago. Eddie found the little brother dramatically collapsing on his bed at least once a week now, and it honestly confused Eddie. When he tried to bring it up to Bill, he just stuttered and told him to go and practice. 

“Go bother your brother,” Eddie supplied mindlessly even though he knew what the response would be. 

“I tried,” He sighed dramatically, throwing his wrist across his forehead like a damsel, “But Billy said that he already had a friend over,”

Eddie’s eyes widened. _Christ, Bill._ “Best not to try to talk to him then,” He said quickly. “Do you want to go to the movies?” Honestly, he just said the first thing that came to mind to just keep Georgie the hell away from whatever Bill was doing.

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Can we? Bill never takes me!”

“If you fix my bedsheets, then yeah.” Eddie smiles as the boy frantically straightens up his bed.

“C’mon, let’s go,” He said, grabbing Bill’s car keys off of his vanity and tousling Georgie’s hair as they walked out. 

_____

Eddie and Georgie are paying in line, Eddie sliding three quarters over to the teenager behind the counter. Georgie excitedly grabs the tickets, dragging him with his other hand to the concessions. He kept pointing to things and asking for them, but Eddie’s focus was about fifteen feet across the room, the blood in his face feeling as though it was drained at least that far away. 

At such a distance, Eddie saw two people; a man with glasses and a man with a head of blonde curly hair, both sharing joking smiles that made his stomach feel sour. He felt the fight-or-flight reaction building up in his chest, ready to either deck them or ready to run like hell. It felt a _bit_ unreasonable at first- they were in broad daylight, around a child, and as long as they didn’t take note of each other, this could pass by smoothly. At the end of this mess, all Eddie wanted was to come out of the other side unscathed. Part of him _does_ want to punch the glasses off of that dumbass, but that wouldn't leave a very good impression on Georgie. For Georgie’s sake, he tried to get as far away as he could from the gang members. 

“Georgie, buddy, we should go, now-”

He frowned. “But _why?_ We just got here, and we didn’t even start the movie yet-“

Eddie gripped his arm, much more forcefully than he meant to. “Georgie, listen, we really have to go and-”

He looked at Glasses dead in the eye. Mentally reciting just about every swear word he’d ever heard, he straightened his back and kept a hold of Georgie. Eddie would rather _die_ than let that asshole and his curly-haired accomplice lay a single goddamned finger on Georgie. He was like a little brother to everyone in the circus (even Ben’s girlfriend, although Gerogie was quite infatuated with her; she always pretended to swoon when he folded a popcorn bag into a very vaguely-rose shaped token). Eddie would definitely do the same if he were her in the situation- He loves Georgie to death. He determined this just a month into living with then, when Eddie had first joined. He felt homesick; despite knowing his mother’s behavior was unacceptable, he still missed her. She was his _mother_. He could never completely hate her. 

Georgie had walked in on him sniffling over her, one day, so he asked what was wrong. Eddie explained that although he loves being in the circus, it was hard not to miss his mom.

Georgie told him that sometimes Bill cared a lot, too, so if he needed somebody to take care of him, they could share Bill. _“He’s great at or-an-ommy! He taught me everything I know!”_ He had laughed.

_“Do you mean origami?”_

_“That’s what I said.”_

Eddie had squeezed him into a hug then, realizing he was the first person to love him regardless of blood, rather than because of it.

“Look, you blind asshole, it’s the guy who hit you with that bottle last night!” The one with the curly hair said, as he approaches Eddie with the other member of the gang at his side.

Eddie inhaled shakily, eyes jumping around. They landed on a frightened little boy. He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to protect him, so he squared his shoulders and held his breath. “And I’ll do it again, right fuckin’ now, if you don’t leave me alone. I’m here with a little kid. Are you two sociopaths or something?”

Connor’s grin dropped immediately. “You really must have balls. You’re gonna threaten us? Didn’t you see what we did to your stupid friend?”

Eddie felt a tiny hand tightening onto his wrist, looking down to see Georgie grabbing onto him, his face both viciously scared and fiercely protective. He’s probably scared. How the fuck is Eddie supposed to keep Georgie safe, let alone both of them?

“You’re not going to do anything. Not in broad daylight. Just at night, behind circus tents and disease-ridden alleyways where you think you can hide the fact that you’re just another insignificant asshole who’s terrified of being forgotten.” Eddie needed to shut his fucking mouth, and get Georgie out of there.

Connor growls, and Georgie flinches. “You and your little flamer boyfriend better learn to watch what comes out of your mouths,” he says, stepping closer slowly. “Or my fists will do it for you,” He was now entirely in Eddie’s face, who had to lean back just to avoid contacting him. He could smell the cigarettes on his breath. It made him shudder. 

“Connor, that’s enough, he’s just trying to take a fucking kid to the movies, grow up and leave them alone.” Glasses said, shoving his hand in between the men and trying to pull his friend back. 

Connor stumbled back into him, sputtering out an angry “ _Fine_ ,” that was practically leaking with anger and unresolve. Eddie takes a quick step back- more of a stumble, really- out of fear that who he’s learned to be named Connor is going to swing at them.

Eddie took a couple of steps back, fully intending to leave the theater when Glasses shoots him a look. The look is part pity and part guilt, and Eddie wants to punch it off of him. 

“What, do you want me to _thank_ you? Get the fuck over yourself, dickwad.” Eddie grabs Georgie’s hand, and the two leave the gang members behind them in a dizzying haze. 

“Who were those guys?” The little boy asked as he was speed-walking away, his little legs jogging to keep up. 

“They hurt Stan. They’re why he can’t perform,” Eddie knows that at the heart of it, the greater disservice to Stan wasn’t the beating he took, but the days he won’t be able to practice or perform because of it. They stripped something essential from him- not permanently, but for long enough. Eddie doesn’t know what could make it better. “Let’s go get some ice cream, or something, okay?” He offers.

Georgie kept a solemn face for a moment, then broke into a soft. smile. “Can I get strawberry?”

Eddie almost guffaws. “Of course.” He grins, patting down Georgie’s hair. “Of _course_ you can get strawberry.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shout out to @ghosty.ghost.fork on instagram for making fanart!!! we love it so much it’s so sweet!!

The next day, Beverly Marsh comes to visit her boyfriend.

Beverly Marsh is a perfect girlfriend, thank you very much. She combs her hair twice a day, and she’d clean his laundry if he asked, and she won’t “give it up” until marriage. Luckily, she found a boyfriend who’s just as perfect- an award winning smile, a charming personality, very much marriage material, and can do his own laundry anyhow. Things every girl looks for in a man, and something Beverly found in Ben. And then it didn’t end there- he’s smart, too. He knows all about light fixtures and how to work them, and music, and he’s worked at a circus for a few months now, ever since she met him. It was all very- well- _not_ good, at first, if she had to be honest. Her father didn’t like her being with the circus, but he liked her being with Ben, and he couldn’t make up his mind on what to do. Eventually, Ben won out.

His friends are great, too. Kay is a performer she would have never met without assistance from Ben, and she’s a friend Beverly knows she’ll have for life. The girl is a fantastic magician, but she’s even better at advice. And can make good banana bread, even though Joyce- their stage manager, of sorts, and another good friend- insists that she does it better. Elliot is Kay’s partner in her act, and he’s a proper gentleman; Bill is always kind, and his little brother is practically an angel. Mike is a little intimidating with the whole strong-man routine, but Beverly has come to find he could never hurt a fly, unless the fly was trying to hurt someone Mike loves, and then Mike could definitely hurt that fly. Eddie and Stan are both great friends of hers, too, although she does feel a little left out by their extremely close friendship. The two can read each other’s minds. It could be an act.

Right now, Bev is sat on the stage in the center of a tent, smiling up at Kay with a cigarette in her mouth as they talk about the other day’s performance.

“It was a really good day. Shame, what happened after, though.” Kay sighs, shaking her head. “Screwed up some plans. Good thing Eddie covered it. Joyce was so stressed.”

“After?” Beverly asks, her smile faltering. She doesn’t live at the circus like the others- she lives with her Dad, still, so sometimes she’s out of the loop.

“You don’t know?” Kay asks, bewildered.

Beverly frowns. “Was it something bad?”

Kay sighs, shaking her head. “Oh, Beverly. To be young and in love. And blissfully ignorant.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You’re only two years older than me.”

“Some gang caught Stan after the show and roughed him up pretty bad.” Kay frowns, shaking her head in a disapproving way. Then she shrugs to say _what-can-you-do_? and blows two kisses to Beverly, one for each cheek. “Okay. I gotta go. Elliot's waiting for me."

Beverly smirks. “To be young and in love, Kay.”

Kay giggles and walks off waving to Beverly and disappearing behind some flap of tent to get to her boy, leaving Beverly cross legged on the platform, trailing her finger in circles. She stares up at the ceiling, looking to the rafters Ben is on during the show, and then at the point of the tent, where all the red and white stripes meet. She smiles. She likes it here, even if it smells like sweat and her cigarettes. All it needs is some perfume and some love.

The front tent flap opens and a boy with black hair and glasses comes in, looking nervous. Beverly stands up. “Sorry, hon. No shows today.”

“Oh.” He says, frowning. “I’m not here for a show. I’m here to... I heard one of your performers got injured? I brought some aspirin and bandages. I don’t know what you guys have, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

Beverly smiles and walks closer to the boy, taking the white plastic bag he came in holding from his hand with a slightly forced smile. _Who got hurt? Is that what Kay meant by what happened after?_ “That’s so sweet of you.” Then she smirks, and looks at him knowingly. “Do you fancy a girl here or something?”

“I thought I did.” The boy says, earning a confused glance from Beverly. She needed a bit more time to process all this information he kept giving her, his pace was a bit fast and she wasn’t used to not being on top and taking care of everything.“Nevermind. Could you just tell the boy on those silk things that I was here? Friend of mine.”

Beverly nods. “Thanks so much. I’ll be sure to.”

The boy nods and leaves in a rush, too fast for Beverly to even realize that she never got his name. She sighs and makes her way backstage to find Eddie, who’s sitting in his room and talking to Mike.

“Sorry to intrude, Eddie.” She says. “Some boy- glasses, a little dopey looking- came in with some first aid for one of us and told me he wanted me to hand it off to you first. He seems like a nice friend! You should introduce us all some time.” She hands over the bag and places it next to Eddie when he doesn’t take it, ruffling his hair once before walking out.

She hums an upbeat song on her way to find Ben.

__________

Eddie scoops up the contents of the bag into his arms with a frown. The person Beverly had described was definitely Glasses, so he knew whatever he’s holding can’t be trusted.

“Sorry, Mike.” Eddie says slowly, not taking his eyes off of the bandages and aspirin he found inside. “I think I know who sent this. I have to go…” He finally looks up towards Mike, who’s staring at him with a confused expression. He doesn’t want to worry him. “Thank him. Find him and thank him.” 

“Who is it?” Mike asks. “Do I know him?”

Eddie shakes his head, tells Mike he’ll be back soon, and leaves his room. Once nobody’s around to see him, he breaks out into a run for the exit of the tent. He pulls it to the side and looks around, looking to see if Glasses has left already.. He looks to one side, and then to the right- and this is when he sees exactly who he’s looking for looking right back at him, wringing out his fingers.

Eddie takes a few steps towards him, but leaves a distance. “What are you doing here? Did you fuck with this stuff? That isn’t funny.” He says sternly, trying to stare daggers at the boy. Rather than the aggressive boy with a bloody knife he saw the other day, he instead finds a nervous kid wearing the same face.

“No!” Glasses shakes his head vigorously. “I promise. I really do. I just- I feel bad. I want to help. I swear.” When Eddie doesn’t respond, Glasses continues his talking. “I feel so- so- guilty. I’ve never done something like that before. I don’t know why-” He sighs, not finishing his sentence. He runs his fingers through his hair and looks at Eddie.

“You can take this back.” Eddie says quietly, shoving the bag back at him. “We don’t need help. And certainly not from _you_.”

Glasses looks at Eddie with such sorrowful eyes that, for a second, he almost believes the boy’s blubbering. Instead of accepting the items, he extends his arm out towards Glasses, who looks at it for a second. His Adam's apple bobs up and down before he takes a few steps forwards and is able to take the bag from him. 

“What’s your name?” Glasses asks quietly.

“Eddie Kaspbrak. It says it on the flier, if you even bothered to look.” Eddie turns and goes back inside. He does not say goodbye.

__________

“Are you sure that Bill won’t budge?” Stan asks for the millionth time. Eddie doesn’t blame him- he doesn’t think that he could go five days without performing, let alone ten, sitting around _injured_. He rolls his eyes regardless, because that’s just the kind of person he is. He knows that even if Stan doesn’t like his situation, it’s for the best. Someone taking over Stan’s act would be better than him pushing himself and not healing.

“I don’t know, Stan. Ask a _seventh_ time. Maybe my answer will change.” Bill laughs, but Stan scowls at him.

“No need to be so snappy. I doubt you could stand a week like this. The break is nice, but I feel useless.” And he really _does_ look sad- Eddie pities him, just a bit. 

“I can have Georgie bring you some popcorn once the crowd is satiated.” Eddie offers, standing up to go to his room so he can finish getting ready. 

Once Eddie sees Stan’s slightly dejected nod, he smiles at him, exiting with a small wave.

He walks out and rounds the corner, his mind buzzing with the thought of his performance tonight, when he finds himself suddenly crashing into something. A noise of distress escapes from Bev and she grabs onto his shoulder for support as to not fall. Her cigarette fell to the floor, so she tuts, and puts it out with the ball of her foot.

“Shit, Eddie!” She sighs. “Did I burn you?”

“No. Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Beverly ruffles his hair. “Don’t sweat it. Plenty more where that came from. Where are you off to in such a rush?”

“I wasn’t rushing. Just distracted,” Eddie counters. “Actually, do you think you can do my makeup for tonight?”

“Why?” Bev asks. “Are you looking to impress somebody?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “No. Who would I even be trying to impress?”

“I dunno. Maybe some girlie caught your eye.” She laughs and bops his nose. “Okay, what are you going for?”

“Just… I don’t know. Something glowy. The music for this act is kind of… mystical. I want to match that.”

Bev nods enthusiastically. “Ben played it for me,” She smiles. “Let me tell him that he’ll need Kay to replace me for a bit. Be right back!” She flounces off. Eddie feels guilty that he’s taking Beverly away from her boyfriend, calling out to her that she doesn’t have to ditch him to do his makeup. Beverly, however, either doesn’t hear him or completely ignores him, because she doesn’t even pause. She comes back about two minutes later and hooks her arm through Eddie’s, the other occupied by her makeup bag. “Lead the way, sir.”

Eddie grins at the redhead walking with him, chattering about how smart Ben is for being able to work the technology for them, and how much she’d like to be able to do it, too. He admires the girl and all she stands for; she’s seamlessly perfect yet also untraditional, like biting into a chocolate chip cookie only to realize it’s oatmeal raisin, and finding that you like oatmeal raisin a lot more. The roles society enforces seem to deflect off of her. She had been the one to approach Ben at the diner they met at and asked for his number, and that’s the same girl that rather than turning up her nose at a boy wearing makeup, had pulled Eddie into his room and began setting up her brushes and items of the sort.

She comes back with her own makeup, anyway, and places it on the desk, smack-dab in the middle of the piles. “Glowy, you said? I’ll make you look like a freaking star.” She asks, already putting on the base layer.

“More like… the moon,” Eddie picks, struggling to keep his head in the same spot as Bev beats on powder.

She smiles. “Gotcha. You’re in good hands, Kaspbrak.”

“I know,” Eddie smiles back as Bev tilts his head to the side. “I always am.”

After twenty more minutes of face makeup, eyebrows, eyelashes, Bev gets to what she likes to call, ‘ _the good stuff_ ’. 

“Screw angel, we’re going for absolute goddess.” Bev decides as she brushes something onto his cheekbones. Eddie loves when Bev swears, and it’s mostly because she does it around nobody else. Eddie’s a little bubble of imperfection for her-and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Shouldn’t it be… just _god?_ Because I’m a boy?” Eddie asks, closing his eyes for her.

“Nah,” She brushes something Eddie is sure sparkles onto his eyelids. He just wasn’t sure if it was eyeshadow or straight up glitter. “Goddess is for beauty, god is for power. Look up. And if they can’t already tell you’re a god on the silks, makeup isn’t going to do much, I’m afraid. Open your mouth.” He does.

Beverly takes a small brush of something glossy and light pink across his lips, leaving a faint scent of something fruity underneath his nose. The smell of the lip gloss kind of make him want to lick it off his lips- he doesn’t understand how girls can wear stuff like this every day and not just… _eat_ it.

“Okay, look.” She smiles and hands him a mirror.

And, yeah, goddess was absolutely the right word. His eyelids glittered, his cheekbones _shone,_ and it made him feel as though he were made of diamonds. He smiles at Bev. 

“Perfect.”

“I always am,” She tilts her head and winks, pulling a cigarette out of a pocket Eddie wasn’t aware was in her dress. If he was honest, he didn’t know _any_ dresses had pockets. 

Eddie stands up, and Bev does the same. He hugs her tight. “Thanks, Bev, but I’ve gotta go. Stretching and all.” She nods. 

“Knock them dead!” Bev says as parting words while Eddie walks away, confident that he will. She slaps his can as he walks past her. 

Eddie’s focused- he always is- as he does a final few stretches before his act is introduced. He walks out when it is, the spotlight on him. The silks descend down to him, and he knows what he’s doing, he’s _conscious_ of where they press and hold on him, and where they’re going to next, he _always is_. 

What he never is: caught off guard. Not when he catches the eye of Glasses in the crowd. Not this time.

He misses his musical cue, if only by a beat, and doesn’t find himself too mad when he has to catch up. 

__________

There was another show that day. There was another show that day, and Richie shouldn’t have gone.

He did anyway.

Too enthralled by the thrill of the circus, he didn’t want to miss a chance to see the performers. Maybe just one performer specifically, not that he allowed himself to think that. He had bought popcorn from Georgie again, and this time none of it was thrown at the acts like it would be if Henry or any of his goons were there.

The show’s over now, so Richie leaves just like the rest of the crowd with a buzzing in his chest too pleasant to ignore. He’s got leftover popcorn that he’s snacking on as he walks to wherever- his shitty apartment, or maybe to try to get something from a bar even though he’s underage- but he’s getting towards the bottom pieces so he’s got some stuck in his teeth.

He makes his way down a few blocks from the circus when he hears familiar voices.

“-and then I told him to fuck off, right, because I’m not just gonna stand there and listen to him! So, he grabs me on my arm-”

“Absolute lunatic.”

“Right? Grabs me on my arm and tells me that if I don’t leave he’s gonna call the cops!”

“Richie?”

“Huh? Oh. Tozier.”

In front of him are the Bowers cousins, and Richie blinks stupidly at them. “Hi.” He says.

Slowly, Henry’s eyes trail down to Richie’s hand, and the most angry and confused expression washes over his face. “Is that… fucking popcorn?” He asks. “You went and caught a show with the fairies?” Richie doesn’t get to answer because the snack is slapped out of his hands onto the ground with ferocity.

Richie doesn’t know what to say because- yeah. He did. He doesn’t have an excuse.

“Do you suck dick now, Tozier?” Henry snarls. He wraps his fingers around Richie’s wrist.

“Don’t be gross, Henry.” Connor snaps, and pulls Henry’s hand off him. “That’s not even funny to joke about.” 

The back of Henry’s jacket is grabbed with a hand as he’s tugged back to Connor. Henry shrugs him off quickly and scowls. Richie doesn’t know much about Henry yet, other than the fact that he’s an asshole, but he does know that Connor is the only person in the gang who could tug him back like that or try to stop him from doing what he wants without promptly getting his ass handed to him. Richie knows for a fact that Connor is _the only_ person.

To reiterate- Richie is not someone who can go against whatever Henry Bowers says and get away with it with only the loss of a half-empty popcorn. Before he can process it, Richie feels himself knocked back. The pain doesn’t settle in for a few seconds, so he blinks blearily at Connor, who is staring back at him open-mouthed. When the brief kick of adrenaline does wear off, Richie doesn’t allow himself to show it; he brings his finger to his eye, just to make sure it’s not bleeding. Bowers adorns a sharp ring on his middle finger that luckily hasn’t hit his eye, but there’s what Richie assumed to be a nasty cut on his eyebrow judging by the red that paints his fingertips. He squares his shoulders, ready for a fight.

“Rich.” Connor says, too softly. “You won’t win.”

“If you go fairy on me, I won’t be this fucking nice, got it?” Henry looks… miserable. Miserably angry. The sort of angry that is raw and desperate and festering- the kind that when people tell you to calm down, it doubles up. Henry is filled with a limitless hatred, instilled in him from when he was born by whatever parents or lack thereof that raised him. When Henry talks, he spits, and Richie can imagine his face going red and then his whole head popping just from the effort of holding on that rage. Even though Richie’s taller than Henry and he’s looking down on him, he feels susceptible to that rage. Like a fucking victim. He doesn’t know why, but he knows that he stands no chance. 

“Yeah.” Richie’s voice comes out more whiny than he means for it to, but he does his best to ignore it. 

__________

Eddie opens the door to a pharmacy- the closest one had been over a mile away, so he had to take the bus -and inhales. One of the most familiar smells to Eddie was that of a pharmacy. Which, he thinks, says a lot about his childhood. _Flu shots in August (“To be ahead of the curve, Eddie-bear,_ ” _), papercuts on Saturday mornings,_ one after another, memories flooded back to him. He shakes his head as though that will rid him of the thoughts, and presses through the threshold once he realizes he has been standing in the doorway. 

He hates pharmacies, and his friends _know_ that, but he was the only one who wasn’t busy practicing or recovering. It was also his fault- Glasses had given him supplies, but Eddie was too mistrusting to be able to accept it. _Which was totally reasonable,_ He tried, if only for his own conscience, _Because it isn’t like he apologized or clearly had guilt in his magnified eyes._ Not at _all._ It’s cold, but if he knew how to accept apologies, he wouldn’t be out here at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night, spending his own pocket money for shit they just received. 

Eddie sighs as he scans the isle headers, looking for gauze and aspirin, when he sees a dirty blond blur. His eyes backtrack, seeing curls, and a leather jacket, and suddenly he wonders what he could have _possibly_ done to offend the universe so much so as to place him in an almost empty room, alone, so late at night with Connor fucking Bowers?

He keeps his eye down, not looking for trouble and not feeling like talking to him. He grabs the supplies, guessing as to where the stuff must be because he’ll be _damned_ if he makes eye contact with that asshole, and walks up to the register holding two dollars and some spare change, hoping to drop it all on the counter and walk out as quickly as he can. 

The old man at the counter did _not_ feel like speeding up, and Eddie swears he could have his whole prescription filled in the time it took to ring him up and _Christ,_ he needed to get out of there.

“Two dollars and thirty-two cents, please,” The old man says, voice moving just as slowly as his hands.

Eddie nods and pulls the money out of his pocket. Too quickly. The change clatters to the ground, and he’s powerless when he sees Connor bend down to help him pick it up. They make eye contact when he drops the change in Eddie’s hand, and he honest-to-god swallows, like they do in the cartoons.

“I-“ Eddie stammers. _Way to sound intimidating._

“Didn’t see you.” Connor nods, almost stoically.

Eddie turns around, honestly a bit scared to have his back turned toward him, and finishes his exchange as quickly as he could, walking out stiffly. He put a hand on the door. _Open it and walk away. A goddamned Bowers is behind you, get your ass out!_

Eddie can’t find it in him to follow his gut. He turns around and walks straight back to the man, who was in the middle of buying a pack of Winston’s and looking very confused.

“Are you friends with- with the one with the glasses?” Eddie asks tensely, clutching the bag with an iron hold.

Connor hesitates. “You mean Richie?”

Eddie nods more than he means to. “I… guess. Yeah. Him.” He doesn’t know what to say next. _Why did I need to know?_

“You shouldn’t be asking about him. I won’t say anything- but, this will just cause problems. I don’t know what’s going on with him but… stop it.” He says, more concern than anger in his voice. Eddie wants to know why he was concerned, but he had ignored his instincts long enough, and decided it was time to go. He takes a couple steps back and then fully bursts into a run outside the door, not noticing the cold anymore.

He’s too busy whispering the word ‘ _Richie_ ’, and thinking about how that fit much better than ’Glasses’.

__________

“You’re here again.” Eddie says, making sure his voice is not accusatory, but also clearly not welcoming. Simply… neutral. He’s caught Glasses- _Richie-_ just about to leave without bothering him, and something compelled him to figure out why. Richie looks ahead, not turning his face towards Eddie.

“I am.” He says quietly. Eddie almost doesn’t pick it up over the chatter of the crowd. “Sorry. I was just going. Don’t need to tell me to.”

“Richie, why do you come to our shows? You haven’t been like- like Bowers, or any of them. You’ve just been… watching.”

Richie turns, revealing his whole face, and Eddie stifles a gasp. His entire left eye is blackened and slightly swollen, and there’s an open cut interweaving with his eyebrow. “I’ve never told you my name.”

“Your eye!”

“How do you know my name? Who told you?” Richie’s one eye is wide, and Eddie assumes the other would be, too, had it been less swollen.

“I ran into Bowers buying cigarettes.”

“He hurt you?” Richie asks quickly.

“No- no, it was the other one. His cousin. Connor. I asked him your name. He told me.” Eddie sets his jaw and shifts his posture. His gaze falls to the ground, but he feels vapid staring at the ground in the middle of a conversation, so he drags it back up to Richie. 

“That was stupid. If he hit you-”

“What difference does it make to you?” Eddie said, just a bit too quickly.

Richie opens his mouth, then stops short. “What do I have to do to apologize? I’ve been coming here, and I’ve said I’m sorry, and I bought stuff to help Stanley. I’m fucking trying, okay? If you could just open your eyes and stop being a dick for a second, you’d see that!”

“You fucking-” Eddie shouts, but stops himself to lower his voice. A few people are still there, filtering out, and definitely don’t want to see a performer shouting at a member of the audience. “You fucking beat up my friend. I saw you with a knife.”

“Patrick’s knife. _Patrick’s._ I wouldn’t have-”

“How am I supposed to know that? How am I supposed to feel safe around you when you beat up my friend less than a week ago?”

“Because! Because if you talked like this to Bowers or any of his _psychopath_ friends, they’d make sure you never talked again. And you know that. You’ve seen it _unprovoked_ , I don’t know how far they’d go if you gave them an actual fucking reason!”

Eddie stares at him, infuriated, because he’s correct. “You’re one of his psychopath friends, Richie.”

“Henry Bowers is not my fucking friend.” Richie answers sourly, almost spitting out the words.

The anger on Eddie’s face remains for a few seconds before it fizzles out, dropping into a frown as his eyes flicker across the expanse of Richie’s bruised eye. “He did that to you?” Richie nods. Eddie frowns deeper. “That eyebrow definitely needs stitches. You didn’t even put a bandaid on it, you fucking idiot. Do you know how many goddamn infections you could get like that? Especially in this sweaty circus tent. The kids brought in here alone must have created a new breed of disease. Just- stay here, okay? I’ll get the FirstAid kit from backstage and I’ll fix you up. Just… don’t go.”

Softly, “I won’t.”

Eddie practically runs backstage to find the first aid, guiltily rushing away from Kay when she congratulates him on a good performance, and not so guiltily rushing away from Bill when he undoubtedly comes to reprimand him for getting distracted and missing a queue. Bev tells him to ‘ _slow down, hotshot!_ ’ as he jogs past her into his room, grabbing all the equipment he needs and slipping on his shoes. There’s no way he could just bring Richie back here- the rest of the circus does not have the reluctant tolerance Eddie has grown to have for Richie, and bringing him anywhere near Stan would most likely cause the role-reversal of the century that ends with Richie needing much more than stitches on his eyebrow. He rushes himself back out, feeling a twinge of relief he didn’t expect when he sees that Richie hasn’t left.

“Come on. Outside. They can’t see me helping you.” Eddie says as he passes the other boy, not bothering to stop. He assumes that Richie follows him as he leaves the tent and loops around to the side. “Here.” He says, pointing to the ground.

“I just… sit there?” Richie asks.

“This is a circus tent in a parking lot, not a fucking day spa. Do you see any benches? Yes, you just sit there.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“There are seats in my car.”

“I’m _not_ getting in your car.”

“Oh. Right. You hate me.” Richie says dryly, his comment seeming halfway between a taunt and genuine apprehension.

“I don’t- fucking sit down, Richie.”

Richie huffs as he sits down, so Eddie kneels in front of him to get out the FirstAid. He opens the box and shuffles through it, looking for the tools he’ll need, gloves, and rubbing alcohol. After he puts on the gloves, he covers a needle in the disinfectant to sterilize it, and puts some on a cotton ball to dab on Richie’s forehead. He hisses when it touches him, but Eddie just tells him to shut up. Richie laughs, and a small smile tugs at Eddie’s own lips that he quickly squanders. He begins to suture the wound closed, scolding Richie whenever he winces or twitches. When he’s finally done, he ties off the thread and cuts it with sterile scissors, then packs everything away.

“Thank you, Dr. K.” Richie teases as he stands up, reaching his hand down to Eddie to help him. Eddie does not take his hand, opting to get up on his own.

“Call me that again and I’ll give you a cut on your other eyebrow to match. And this time I won’t sew you closed.”

Richie smiles at him. “See you around.”

Eddie smiles back, and this time, he doesn’t fight it. “Bet I will.”

__________

Connor Bowers had asked to come over. _Okay, this is fine,_ Richie’s mind immediately thought, _He’s just checking in on me. Friends do that to friends who get injured. By other friends. Yeah._ He wasn’t very good at convincing himself everything was okay, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to convince Connor of that, either. 

But Richie said yes. He actually said something that sounded a lot more like an excuse, but based off of the knock on his door, Connor’s taken it as a yes.

He grimaces as soon as Richie opens the door. “Did you end up going to the doctor? Those are clean stitches.” He shakes his head as he lets him in. Clearly no need for a ‘hello’. 

“Nah, I’ve just got steady hands.” His lies slip out easier than he ever would have thought they would, especially to Connor. Connor was his friend, and always on his side whenever Henry or Patrick liked to pick on him. It was probably out of sympathy, he was probably in a similar position before Richie joined, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

He looks at him incredulously. “You? Steady handed? On your own _face_?” He rolls his hazel eyes. “Never woulda guessed.”

Richie just shrugs. “Got tricks up my sleeve, and my dick up your mom.” He sits down on the couch. Connor sits closer than he could have.

“You okay?” After a moment, Connor looks at him and his every injury as though he wishes just a glance would heal him.

“Yeah.” Richie looks at him back, observing. How when his eyes moved, his eyelashes did, too, and how the corner of his mouth tugs with concern when he frowns at him. How he smelled like smoke and sweat and nothing appetizing.

Connor clears his throat, and jumps back, gathering another inch of empty space between them. “A freak asked about you the other day. I was just buying a pack, and he looked at me and asked.”

_Eddie?_

“He did?” Richie wishes he didn’t want that. He really did.

“Asked your name. Called you ‘the one with the glasses’.” Connor shook his head dismissively, pulling what Richie assumes was the very same pack out of his pocket. Winston’s. His favorite. 

Connor offers him one. He accepts it, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. “What did you say? Did he ask anything else?” He says, sounding like he cared a significant amount more than he wanted to let on.

“Told him your name, told him not to ask about you. Then he ran like a little rabbit!” Richie coughs on his own smoke, as if he were twelve again. Connor tosses the filtered side of the cigarette around with his tongue, left to right. It isn’t necessarily a very intimidating action, but it makes Richie realize that he would probably be afraid of him, too.

“Why would you tell him not to ask?”

Connor looks at him again, furrowing his brow. Looking at him up and down as though his appearance had changed with the sentence he’d spoken.“Why the fuck would you _want_ him to ask?”

Richie says nothing. He couldn’t think of anything he could say that wouldn’t get him in trouble. He just tilts his head and blows smoke the other way, the other boy being in such close space that he’d get smoke in his eyes.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Rich.” Connor says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder, arm bent at a slightly awkward angle due to the distance (or lack thereof).

“Con, I think we’re both stupid,” Richie winces. He laughs so hard smoke comes out of his nose. Connor smiles a moment after, chuckling softly.

Connor looks up at him after a moment with something more than laughter in his eyes.

Richie looks away. 

__________

Patrick Hockstetter has his feet up on Richie’s coffee table. Sure, it isn’t a nice coffee table, and Patrick isn’t ruining it or anything, but Richie just wants to kick his legs off the table and tell him to fuck off. Connor is sitting on the couch, too, except he has his feet on the ground, because Connor has been invited to Richie’s apartment before and knows that if he puts his feet up on the fucking table, Richie would strangle him. Patrick has never been invited. He invited himself.

“Move this bag.” Patrick tells Connor. 

Connor huffs, picks up the bag, and chucks it at Patrick. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

“I’ll do what I want.” The taller one replies, flipping Connor off with a sneer. “What the fuck is this?” He’s pulling something out of the bed- a black and red flier with a decorated elephant printed on it, despite there being no animals in the circus, and the names of the performers displayed at the bottom.

“A flier… for the circus.” Richie answers weakly, because there’s no point in lying. It’s right there in Patrick’s hand. Connor is completely bug-eyed.

“Henry was fucking right.” Patrick laughed.

“What did Henry say about me?” Richie asks, tightening his fists. The overcoming desire to hit Patrick grows with every second.

“That you’re a homo.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “He’s just mad that I make sweet love to his ugly mother every night.” He counters as fast as possible, trying his best to remain calm.

“Don’t be gross.” Connor instantly says. “That’s my aunt. Besides, Richie and I went together. We stole popcorn from the boogery little shit with all the snacks, and then we left. You calling me a homo?”

That’s… a lie. Connor flat out lied. Neither of them had stolen from Georgie- in fact, Richie had actively given Georgie more money than necessary, and then they ate all the popcorn without causing a problem. Connor still is looking at Patrick with a challenging look in his eye, to which Patrick is glaring back at.

“Should I call Henry and let him know you’re accusing me of sucking dick? Are you fucking suicidal?”

Patrick finally relents, throwing his hands up. “I’m just fucking with you two.” He says, but still rips the flier in half. “Why’d you keep the paper?”

Connor looks at Richie. Doesn’t have a lie for that, he supposes. “I dunno. Shoved it in my bag. Didn’t think it would be a bigger deal than my wang.” He stands up from him spot on the couch and simultaneously snatches the now ripped flier from Patrick’s stupid hands, bringing them to the trash and tossing them.

“You’re fucking odd, Tozier.” Patrick says, narrowing his eyes. Richie feels a lump in his throat.

“Patrick. Let’s go. I need more Winston’s.”

Patrick looks to Connor and sighs, standing up. That was also a lie. Connor got a pack just yesterday, when he saw Eddie.

“See you later, Connor. Fuck you, Patrick.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye.”

Richie parks his truck and starts walking toward the circus tent (reasonably, it’s the last place he should be at.) after dark on a Wednesday night. The asphalt underneath his feet is just a bit wet from the rain this morning- more of a sprinkle than anything else. He let the damp blacktop crunching underneath his feet play white noise for his thoughts.

_The tent’s only a few feet away,_ And, _Why am I here,_ and, _How am I supposed to get in,_ and more importantly, _How do I get Eddie’s attention?_

He shakes out his shoulders, as though it will rid him of the guilt he feels at coming back. Patrick wouldn’t be so nice next time and he knew it, but he couldn’t go anywhere else. Maybe he’d come back to Richie’s apartment and decide he wasn’t going to wait for him to make another mistake. He doesn’t think Richie’s stupid enough to go back to the circus.

He definitely is. He pokes his head through the flaps, making up a plan as he goes along. Then he saw the kid that was with Eddie at the theater, sweeping up popcorn with a very small broom.

“Psst! Hey, kid! Over here!” And _god_ , does Richie feel like he’s about to… sell drugs to this kid, or maybe steal him or something. _There was definitely a better way to say that._

The kid takes a few steps towards him, only setting down the dustpan. “The circus is closed,” He said, as if Richie couldn’t tell by the blatantly shut flaps.

“I know. You were the kid that went to the theater with Eddie, right?”

The boy nods. “How do you know him?” He pauses. “Hey, I know you!” 

Richie winces. _Shit._

“You’re the guy that was teasing Eddie at the movies!” He holds the broom like it’s a sword. “Don’t come in! I’ll hurt you! And I’ll call Mike, and he’ll kick your can!”

Richie rushes in. “No, no, no, buddy, don’t call them, I’m just here to talk to Eddie, you can stay right here if you want, to make sure I don’t cause any problems, you can call Bill and Mike if I do, just please let me talk to Eddie first-” Richie rambles, tripping over words to make sure he doesn’t swear in front of the little boy.

He takes a step back and drops the broom. “Okay. But’cha gotta pinkie swear you won’t hurt Eddie,” He says, leaning in and offering his pinkie, “I think he might go bonkers if he had to rest like Stan does.”

Richie nodded, and accepted his pinkie. The boy ran off, hopefully to go get Eddie. He picked up the broom and dustpan, leaning it against the stand.

“Richie?” Eddie asks, walking out in sweatpants and a hoodie. He hadn’t taken off the makeup yet, and Richie swears he’s blinded for a moment.

“Yeah. Hi, Eds.” He says, unaware of what excuse he’s about to give.

“Don’t call me that! You shouldn’t be here. Somebody could have seen you!” Eddie snarls, with an undertone of concern. 

“Someone did see me.” Richie comments, pointing off-handedly to Georgie.

He lowers his voice. “You’re not helping your case.” Then he turns to the small kid with a smile. “Keep this a secret, okay? Go tell Bill that I’m going out on a walk.”

“A secret?” Georgie whispers.

“Like a secret agent.” Eddie nods, and Richie follows, crossing his arms and trying to look like he’s some sort of important person that people keep secrets for.

Georgie runs off to go tell Bill.

Richie and Eddie begin to walk out of the tent together, Eddie keeping a minor yet noticeable distance from his counterpart. “You better have a good reason for being here. You could have gotten your ass kicked. By circus clowns.”

“I…” Richie’s voice trailed off, unsure what to say. He could lie and just say something about being bored, but lying to Eddie doesn’t seem right. To be honest, he doesn't know why he’s here. The entire gang is suspicious of him, but thanks to Connor, he’s in no real trouble. “I don’t like my friends.”

“I don’t think the people you consider your friends are actually your friends,” Eddie walks by the side of the tent with Richie, subconsciously following Richie to the parking lot without thinking about where they’re headed to. “What are we doing? Where are we even _going_?” Eddie spins and looks at him, and Richie didn’t know moonlight could reflect so brightly. 

“We could get something to eat? I don’t think I’ve had dinner yet.”

Eddie scoffs. “You’re a disaster, Rich. It’s past ten,” He starts walking to the sidewalk. In his slippers, Richie notes. “I have to be back here by midnight, and not a minute later. Bill will hunt my ass down if I’m late.”

“I’m parked over there,” He says, tossing a thumb behind him to the solitary car in the small parking lot.

Eddie’s arms stiffen in his hoodie pocket. He looks at the truck for a few moments, then back at Richie with a bit of defeat in his eyes. “You’d better be a fucking fantastic driver, or I will hop out the window.”

Richie smiles widely. “Not even close. I’m the absolute worst. Buckle up, Eds, this will either be the _funnest_ ride of your life- or the shortest!” He yells, hopping into the truck.

__________

Richie and Eddie had decided on a twenty-four hour diner that was only a couple of blocks away, but still plenty of time for Eddie to huff about how sharply Richie turned corners, and scream when he was five mile per hour over the speed limit. He flat out refused to let Richie touch his burger without wiping down the table, even though it caused Richie to be able to feel like he could taste it on his fingertips. He didn’t care. Eddie didn’t let his food touch, and refused to use the ketchup because of the germs that were on it, or whatever. And he ate his burger with _silverware_. Richie laughed as he saw the man’s small, callused hands around the fork, and Eddie just flipped him off with a butterknife in his hand. 

After they had fought over who was going to pay, (Richie did. Eddie left his wallet in the tent.) and Eddie bleach-wiped the door handle, they were on their way back. This drive was comparatively quiet. Richie has one hand on the wheel and another out the window, and Eddie’s resting his forehead on the chilled glass. Richie slipped a note with his address and phone number on it onto his lap. Eddie didn’t move.

“Hey,” Richie says once they pull in, elbowing the other man. The parking lot is completely empty other than a platinum blonde head of hair walking out of it, so Richie isn’t sure if that person counts, anyway. “We’re here.”

Eddie looks up at him. “Right. Thank you,” He says, unbuckling. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t have split the bill, I could go grab my wallet, or- _oh_ , you know what? I’ll have Bev let you in for free next time.”

Richie grins. “What makes you say there’s gonna be a next time, Eds?”

Eddie’s ears tinge pink. “Wh-no, you don’t _have_ to come again, I was just saying that if you happened to, I mean I’m not opposed or anything, but-“

Richie drops his hands, and puts one on Eddie’s seat. “I think I’m free tomorrow night. The gang’s got me doing shit all day tomorrow.” He turned off the engine with his free hand.

“Why do you hang out with them?” Eddie asked, all in one breath. He has his hands folded in his lap, and he had a better posture than Richie ever would.

Richie glances away. “They help me out, so I guess I could blame it on that, but I think it more comes down to the fact that… I’m just like them, at the end of the day.” His stomach knots and he clears his throat, looking down and away from Eddie. He knows that, fundamentally, he’s as bad of a person as the others. The only difference is that he doesn’t relish in it. But it doesn’t change the fact that he had just given in and followed Henry’s malicious orders just like the rest of them.

Richie’s hand brushes against Eddie’s shoulder when he shifts to face Richie. “You aren’t as bad as you think you are, Tozier.” His stare bores holes into Richie, forcing him to look up at the smaller boy instead of staring at the floor and wallowing. His eyes look so kind that, for a moment, he wants to believe him. Wants to believe that he’s good, that he can change, that he isn’t garbage like the rest of them.

Instead, he shakes his head. “You’re wrong.” He knows he isn’t. He knows that because Eddie’s friends don’t know where he is right now. He knows that because if he asked Eddie if he could meet them, he’d say no. He knows that because no matter what Eddie says, he’s ashamed to be hanging out with him.

Richie would be, too.

Eddie scans him, looking up and down and everywhere else. He opens the door and jumps, just a bit too small for the truck’s frame. Eddie looks at him one more time, and Richie feels like he gets hit again, somehow, at just how he looks in the moonlight.

“Goodnight, Richie.” He closes the door before he has a chance to say it back.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the support! we have some... interesting stuff in store :)

The satisfying thing about silks to Eddie is that it can be whatever he wants it to be- it’s dangerous, it’s fun- but right now, it’s a chair. Eddie had tied a simple knot into his silks and was seated on it, next to Stan on the lyra, while the rest of the circus was gathered around in a deformed circle of chatter.

“So,” Mike says, pulling up rope and circling it over his palm and around his elbow into neat loops. “Are you excited to start performing again, Stan?”

Stan’s eyes lit up at the question, and you could tell he’d been dying to hear it.  _ “Yes.” _ He says with a big breath, as though he’d been suffocating until now. “I’m just worried I’m going to be too out of practice for tomorrow.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t worry about it, Stan. You’re a wonder on that thing. It didn’t take you long to get this set down.” Bill says, looking up at him with a grin. Stan smiles back, his face just a bit brighter. 

“You’re really very skilled, Stan. I’m glad you’re back. You look happier already.” Bev notes from Ben’s lap, a polished hand carding softly through his hair. She fits perfectly there, as though it’s where she always belonged. As though there were only enough negative space for her in his lap and in his arms, and every other girl couldn’t fill that up in quite the same way. It was a bond that was rare, and not just for the couple. Bill and Joyce, for example. They had underwhelming positives, mostly filled with static shoved in where it shouldn’t be.

“I’m glad to  _ be _ back, Bev. I don’t think a single one of you could stand being in the same room for that long. Especially you, Eddie, with your attention span.”

Eddie frowns at him. “Hey!” He tries to playfully smack him, but misses all together. He was too far away. “Georgie, get ‘em for me!” He encourages, watching the little boy fail to even brush the man as he climbs higher. Mike pulls him back and sits him on his lap.

“Using a child to do your dirty work?” Stan tuts from above. “Shame on you, Eddie.”

“Hypocrite! How many times did you have him get shit for you, even after you were totally capable of getting it yourself?” Eddie yells up at him, like always. Whenever they got into arguments, Stan always had height on his side, making Eddie feel a tad too much like a toddler.

“But, Eddie, I was bedridden. I couldn’t  _ help _ it.” He says dramatically, dropping upside down so he looked like a damsel in distress, complete with a gentle wrist over the forehead. Bill laughed. Ben just smiled and shook his head.

“Which is why you had me ask Billy here at least seven times a day to perform?” Eddie says flatly. Georgie giggles, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up, boys.” Joyce teases, but the only one left smiling as Stan furrows his brow at her, pulling himself back up into a sitting position. 

He rolls his eyes when Joyce decides to seat herself onto Bill’s lap, looking just a bit too smug for Eddie’s taste. Bill, notably, does not wrap around her immediately, stiffening his back as she sits. Stan glances away, focusing instead on finding another way to sit. Eddie couldn’t describe it; it isn’t like Bill hasn’t had girlfriends before- he’s had several. Most of them probably not even girlfriends, just girls. Or friends. Bill was social, he made friends with every kind of person no matter where they went. Joyce was different. They averted their gazes around her, they shifted their stances. Nothing was inherently  _ wrong _ , exactly. Just… off-kilter.

Their relationship remains behind closed doors, because they both know that while Joyce isn’t just a friend, she couldn’t claim to be much more than that, either. Regardless, she took what she could. Stealing his glances, brushing his skin, sitting on his lap. She has his attention, and he pauses everything else.

And yet, he always unpauses before long.

“Actually, Joyce, I’m a bit hot, could you…” Bill says, pushing his sleeves up his arms. His woolen sweater sleeves, which he really could have just removed.

“Oh. Sure.” She says, standing up and dragging a hand through her hair. “I just came to mention, I got us a few nights on the other side of town so we don’t have to go all the way out to Bangor until next month. See you backstage, Bill?” 

He blushes a bit, then it goes away as though he had just flipped a switch. He looks up for half of a second, and then nods. “S-sure, Joy.”

Eddie is pretty sure Georgie actually exhales when she leaves.

“Hey, Bevvy, wanna go fold more  _ ory-gammy  _ flowers?” He asks, to which she obviously nods.

“Of course, Georgie! Can Ben come, too?” She asks sweetly. 

He looks at Ben like he was an obstacle. Then sighs. “Sure, I guess.” He grabs her hand and drags her away, leaving Ben to catch up on his own.

Mike looks at Eddie with an armful of assorted tools and items that were just laying around. “Georgie’s totally got a crush on her, right?”

Elliot and Kay (tangled together in such a way you couldn’t be quite sure who was on whose lap) nodded fervently, knocking heads and sending Kay into a fit of giggles. Eddie grins. “Oh, definitely.” 

Mike smiles at him and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m gonna go put all of this away.”

Eddie salutes him off, then he looks down at Bill, noting how he had hardly moved since Joyce left, and how his stare was fixated on some point in the air. Eddie hopped off of his silks and began to untie the knot.

“I should probably…” Bill says up to Stan, as though he was owed an explanation. 

“Joyce. Yeah.” Stan says cooly, looking over his head. Bill left the room, leaving just Eddie and Stan.

____________________

Stan is still casually seated on his lyra, hands holding onto the bar above his head and looking down at Eddie, who’s cross-legged on the ground in front of him. Stan kicks his feet towards Eddie’s face, and as a result, he is swatted away. The lyra begins to turn slowly.

“Stop me, Eddie!” Stan pouts as he begins to face away. Instead of helping, Eddie leans forwards, grabs Stan’s foot, and begins to spin him faster, to Stan’s dismay. Stan curses and hops down, narrowly dodging the still-spinning apparatus with a side step. “I missed being on that hell-hoop.”

“You sound like you really love it.” Eddie points out.

“I do.” Stan sighs, looking lovingly at the lyra. “Every rip and blister I get from this thing I’ve learned to adore.” He goes to lean his head on it like it was a stuffed animal he was cuddling, but his head knocks into the metal and he winces. “Ouch.”

“Is that an injury? Might even be a concussion,” Eddie feigns a gasp and sighs, shaking his head. ”Looks like you can’t perform tonight.”

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up. Don’t even joke about that.” He pulls himself back into a seated position on the lyra, then sends his legs back over his head and over the top of the lyra so he’s hanging by his knees. Eddie reaches out and turns Stan around to face him with a grin. “This is my natural habitat. I should have been born a monkey.”

“You look like you were born a monkey. And anyway, you like  _ birds.”  _ Eddie counters. As it were an answer, Stan comes down from his knee hang and begins to push himself into a Birdie position.

“Birds don’t have  _ opposable thumbs,”  _ Stan huffs, ignoring his comment and wiggling his thumbs without letting go. “And therefore cannot do lyra.”

“You have opposable thumbs! You don’t even need to be a monkey!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think the Bowers gang would beat up a monkey and call it a fairy.” In a fluid motion, Stan readjusts his grip and rolls forward, dropping so only one leg is hooked across the bottom of the hoop and then dismounting back to the floor. “I hate those guys.”

Like a punch to the face, Eddie is winded by the thought of a boy with a mop of black hair paying for his dinner, of a lopsided smile grinning at him as he stitches his forehead, of a light touch of a hand on his shoulder, of lips that stay chapped because he thinks that chapstick is girly. He’s surprised to find the thought of it makes his chest hurt. “They’re not that bad.” He says without thinking, and immediately regrets it.

Stan blinks at him, like he’s stunned. “What?” Is all he says, but his tone is filled with hurt.

Eddie quickly tries to amend. “I just mean- they’re not just some soulless, vapid assholes, they’re people too.” He stammers out. “Like- I don’t know- they have families and stuff, probably?” He says, ending it more like a question than he intends.

“They cornered me in an alleyway and tried to kill me, Eddie.”

“They didn’t try to  _ kill  _ you-”

“Why are you defending them?” Stan spits, and Eddie’s jaw goes tight. “You’ve been acting so fucking weird recently.”

“I’m- no- you’re-”

“They don’t deserve your sympathy. They’re horrible people.” Stan stares Eddie up and down. “I need to practice. You have to go. You’re distracting me.”

Eddie nods and takes himself backstage to his room, flopping down onto his bed with a sigh and looking to the ceiling; he hits his palm to his forehead. “Stupid. Stupid.” He mutters. When Stan had mentioned the gang, nobody crossed Eddie’s mine except for Richie. For a moment, he was all there was. All Eddie could think about was how Richie’s hair fell in his eyes, or how his shirt stretched over his chest when he would take his jacket off. And now he’s thinking about it again, and his heart is racing.

Why is his heart racing?

Probably because Stan is mad at him. Stan is hardly ever mad at him, but only a few minutes ago he had looked at him with such disgust that Eddie wanted to wither on the spot. With a sinking feeling, Eddie realizes that he’ll never be able to hang out with Richie and the others in the circus together. Richie won’t get to meet his friends, because they hate him, and they’d all hate Eddie for hanging out with him.

Richie is a secret, that’s for sure. Eddie can’t fathom why he’d do this sort of sabotage to himself, but the only explanation that he could think of was how Richie had said  _ “You’re wrong”,  _ and how the first thing Eddie thought was  _ “I wish you could see just how right I am” _ , and with that, he knows with complete certainty that abandoning his friendship with Richie isn’t an option.

____________________

Eddie starts sorting through his laundry with absolutely no intention to clean.

He starts pulling out every pair of sweatpants he’d worn in the past week, digging through the pockets until he finds what he’s looking for- a note in smudged handwriting. The pen Richie used smudged out his address, clearly stating that Richie was left-handed, and also a dumbass.  _ He should have used a felt tip, _ Eddie thinks, shoving the rest of his laundry in the basket and standing up.  _ Gel pens smear too much. _ Eddie grabs two coins on his way out.

Eddie walks out of the tent, luckily uninterrupted by any members of the circus. Halfway to a payphone, he clicks the coins together in his pocket. He pulls the paper out of his pocket, inserts a dime, and dials the number. He picks up after three rings.

“Yeah?” Richie’s voice is slightly muffled from the phone, but it is still his, and it’s still there, and it calms Eddie’s breathing, just a bit.

“Is that how you answer the phone? When your mother calls, she just hears you groan a ‘yeah’ into the phone? Phone etiquette, Richie.”

He could practically hear the smile in Richie’s voice. “Spaghetti! You called! What’s up?”

“Don’t call me-“ Eddie sighs. “Can I come over? Are you busy?” Eddie could hear a clack against the receiver, which he guessed to be his glasses.  _ Did he just shake his head? Over the phone? _

“Not at all. Do you need a ride?”

Eddie caught himself about to shake his head, too. “No. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“See you soon, Spaghetti.”

Eddie waits until he hears the soft  _ click _ from the other end to set down the phone, and starts making his way.

____________________

He stands on Richie’s faded welcome mat (something most of the neighbors neglected to get) as he knocks on the door, the unmistakable smell of cigarettes and bad habits piercing Eddie as though he needed a reminder of what kind of person Richie was.

Richie swings the door open, grin as wide as ever. “Come in, Eddie Spaghetti!”

“Stop calling me that,” Eddie says, elbowing him as he walks by and pretending not to smile. 

Richie’s apartment is small, but charming, in a strange way. The couch smells like nicotine and tar, but it’s the most comfortable thing he’s sat on all day. The end table was scuffed, the carpet just a bit torn, but it all matched- ragged, but somehow kind of magnetizing, like a dog with three legs. 

Richie falls down onto the couch, an unlit cigarette sitting in the corner of his mouth. He grins, the cigarette only further exaggerating just how wide the corners of his mouth spread. “What brings you here, Eds? Missed me?”

Eddie tinges red. “Oh, you wish, Trashmouth.” He teases, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it behind him. “You know how bad these things are for you, right? No girl’s gonna kiss you if your mouth smells like that and your teeth rot out of your gums.”

“Good,” Richie says decisively, “I’m not going after girls in the plural- I’ve got the girl of my dreams already, Mrs. Kaspbrak-Tozier.”

Eddie looks at him with annoyance for just a moment too long. Richie uses that time to snatch the stick out of his hand, popping it in his mouth and smirking at him with a smug look in his over-sized eyes as he lights it.

Eddie drops his smile and rubs his hands on his face. “Oh, Richie. What am I going to do with you?”

He takes a drag before answering. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

Eddie shook his head. “Nothing major, it just put off my mood.”

Smoke floats up whenever Richie opens his mouth, and it’s almost pretty in the right lighting. “C’mon, Eds, please?”

Eddie watches the smoke bounce off the ceiling.“I don’t feel like getting into specifics. I came to you so I wouldn’t focus on it, Rich.”

Richie nods and then furrows his brows at him as if he could solve the problem by just looking at him. “I know what you need.”

“What, a cigarette? No fucking way.” Eddie says with his eyes wide.

“I was going to say a walk, Eddie, but if you insist-“

Eddie practically jumped to shove his hands over Richie’s wide mouth. “No, no, no- a walk sounds perfect.”

____________________

Richie, Eddie has decided, is about as mentally mature as Georgie, if not less. He decides this the moment his friend sees an ice cream truck and drags Eddie towards it.

“Richie!” Eddie groans, trailing behind him with his wrist captured in his hand. “Nobody’s even in there!”

“Exactly.” Richie responds.

“We are not breaking into an ice cream truck.”

Richie just turns him hims and smirks before his hand dips into his pocket and produces a key. He walks to the back doors of the truck and unlocks the door, shooting back a small grin at Eddie before jumping up into it and sticking his arm out. “Not  _ an  _ ice cream truck.  _ My  _ ice cream truck.”

“No way.” Eddie laughs and takes Richie’s hand, trying not to gawk at how easily he’s able to tug Eddie up. He stumbles, but a firm hand on his shoulder stabilizes him before he can have the chance to fall out of the truck onto his ass. “Bowers doesn’t kick your ass for this?” He laughs incredulously, leaning back onto a freezer filled with less ice cream than an ice cream truck should probably have.

Richie’s smile falters, but Eddie doesn’t have time to ask what’s wrong before Richie fixes it. “No. It’s a front. I sell ice cream, but it’s mostly for weed.” Eddie jumps, standing straight up and off the freezer like it suddenly had turned to hot coals.

“That’s illegal.”

“Really?” Richie quirks up an eyebrow. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t agree with your lifestyle choices.”

“Do you want to pay my bills for me, then?” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Plus, I like it. The kids are cute,” He pauses. “The kids get the ice cream. I don’t sell drugs to kids.”

If Richie were anyone else, Eddie would say  _ fuck it. Join the circus.  _ Because Richie is funny and kind and absolutely unlike the people he associates with, yet Eddie knows he can’t do this. Instead, he turns around and takes a rocket pop from the freezer and unwraps it, offhandedly commenting that he’s not going to pay for it. Richie shrugs, probably because he didn’t expect Eddie to.

  
  
  


Richie has never seen Connor eat a rocket pop. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking that, but he is. He actually hasn’t seen anyone eat one recently, except for the little kids that end up buying things. Richie’s found that selling ice cream is actually pretty profitable, too, paired with the weed, and he wouldn’t be able to handle the frowns on kids faces if he had to tell them he was “out of ice cream”.

Eddie mentions not paying for the popsicle, and Richie assures him he doesn’t have to. After that, Eddie hops up onto the freezer and sits on the lid, kicking his legs against it with a soft thump every time they make contact. “I got in a fight with Stan.” Eddie mentions quietly. 

“What was it about?” Richie asks, though he has a feeling he knows the answer by the way Eddie’s eyes trail to the ground, anywhere but to Richie’s own gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, looking at his sad friend. Richie causes nothing but problems for Eddie. Their first interaction had only been because Richie had gotten hurt, and Eddie had to fix up his messes. And now Eddie is fighting with his best friend over Richie- a fight he shouldn’t be having, because why would Eddie be fighting  _ for him?  _

The shorter boy shrugs, ignoring the question and instead skipping over it. “It sucks. He’s my best friend and fighting with him- I feel like I can’t breathe.” Then he frowns. “I used to have an inhaler. All the time. I don’t need it anymore, but I genuinely think I would have choked on my own lungs without it.”

He could have been up front, at least, Richie thinks with a sting. “I don’t want to be causing you problems with Stan. I know he means a lot to you.”

“You mean-” Eddie pauses. “You mean… you don’t want to be friends with me anymore?”

Richie frowns. “That’s not what I meant. I like hanging out with you. You’re the least assholish person I know.”

“That isn’t hard.”

“It’s not.” Richie agrees. “But still. You don’t have to feel obligated to hang out with me. I don’t need your pity.”

“I hang out with you because you’re nice to me. That’s how friendship works,” Eddie taps the top of the freezer next to him, signalling for Richie to sit down. He obliges. “I didn’t tell you I got into a fight with Stan because I want you to fuck off, I told you that because you’re my friend. Friends help each other.”

“Yeah, I’ll go knock some sense into him for you, then.” He quips.

Eddie breaks out into a grin and shoulders Richie with a laugh, despite the words out of his mouth being, “Not funny!”

“Well, I’m sorry about your fight, then.” Richie sighs. “I’d offer you a complimentary popsicle, but…”

“I’ll have a second.”

“Have a second, then.”

“Move your ass off, then.” Eddie hops off the freezer.

“My ass is the main ingredient, actually.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie. You’re so gross.”

Richie sticks his tongue out and gets off of the freezer, opening it up and grabbing an ice cream sandwich for Eddie and handing it to him. He closes the freezer back up, but this time, Eddie doesn’t sit back down. Instead, he starts looking around the truck, his fingers grazing over anything in reach. Anything he shouldn’t be touching is all locked away, so Richie allows his friend to look around until he stops at the wall of the truck just behind the driver’s seat. On the wall is an area where Richie puts pictures, papers, reminders, and such- taped to it is a picture of his sister and him when he was little, a few sticky notes to remind him of any dates or orders he didn’t want to forget, and some stickers of fire trucks he got from a little boy as a thank you for the ice cream. Eddie looks entranced, though, so Richie steps over to see what he’s looking at.

He had forgotten he had taped up a circus flier there.

“You kept one of these?” Eddie asks with a small tug on the corners of his mouth.

“Two.” Richie corrects, and immediately feels embarrassed. “After you asked my name, and you said-”

“That you should’ve checked the flier.” Eddie laughs, his finger swiping across the title, ‘ _ The Losers’ Circus’ _ and then down to his own name, printed neatly under Stan’s. Then his finger drops, and so does his smile. “The circus is moving, Rich. Soon.” He says, still looking at the flier and not at Richie.

“What?” Richie asks dumbly.

Eddie shakes his head, blinks a few times, and his smile returns. “Not far. Derry is a pretty big city, so we’ll just be on the other side. Twenty five minutes away, probably.”

“Oh!” Richie’s somber expression immediately cools to a happier one. “The way you said it made it sounder like you were fucking off to Florida, or something. Tryna shake me off, Eds?”

“Do not call me Eds.”

“That’s what it says on the flier.” Richie shrugs.

Exasperated, Eddie throws his hands up. “It says ‘Edward’! Actually! So!”

“Nuh-uh, Eddie Spaghetti-”

“Richie-”

“It’s a perfect name. You’re flexible. Like a noodle!” Richie tuts and picks up a bright green marker from the cupholder by the driver’s seat, then walks over to the flier, preparing to cross out Eddie’s name.

“No! That’s graffiti!” Eddie calls out, clapping his hand down on top of the flier so Richie can’t reach his name.

This doesn’t stop Richie, who just draws on Eddie’s hand. “It’s a piece of paper, not a building!” Upon the green marker being smudged across his skin, Eddie pulls back with a yelp, shouting about how he doesn’t want ink poisoning. “Give me the marker! You can’t be trusted!”

“Oh, yeah, Eds?” Richie quirks up an eyebrow. He holds it up above his head. “Come and get it.”

_ “Fuck you!” _

_ ____________________ _

Popcorn bags were something the circus never seemed to run out of, the supply seemingly enough to support the snack demand as well as the demand for… origami paper. When Eddie first joined, he wondered why Bill let him use so many. Then, the first time Georgie invited him, he understood exactly why- The way the little boy’s eyes lit up, and how he was just so excited to show whoever his newest fold was a priceless sight that never, ever got old. Which is why Eddie almost never left Georgie on Sundays.

“Eddie!” Georgie calls from outside of his room. “Wanna come fold? Bill taught me how to make a boat! I wanna show you!”

Eddie smiles against his pillow. “ ’Course, buddy, let me just get dressed, alright?” He’s facing the wrong way, but he knows that Georgie smiles as he runs off.

He stands up to make his bed, stopping suddenly when he sees his hand. _ Shit, _ he thought, looking around as though someone were there to yell at him,  _ I never washed Richie’s marker off.  _ He sees a pack of wipes on his dresser out of the corner of his eye and almost lunges for them, pulling one out and vigorously wiping his hand, taking off the green as though it’d fix that he was with him last night. As though it’d fix  _ who _ he was with last night.

Most of the green comes off, but a patch of his skin is left slightly raw. Eddie decides that would be easier to explain than green swipes of ink, so he pulls a hoodie on and walks out of the room, stretching the sleeve over his hand.

“So, first, you fold it in half…” Another cute thing about Georgie folding origami was that in order for him to concentrate, he had to put on his ‘concentrating face’. The aforementioned appearance consisted of his left eye screwed shut and his tongue peeking out, creating an impossibly adorable look that every member of the circus would lay down their life for. Bill laughs, placing a hand on Georgie’s shoulder. “Then… you fold this corner, right?” Georgie asks, dropping the face and looking up at Bill. “Eddie!” He yells, seeing Eddie before he sees Bill’s nod of confirmation, standing up and grabbing paper as he does.

“Look, look, I made a boat! Bill’s just making sure I remembered how to do it, and Bevvie is learning, too!” Georgie leans in close and motioned for Eddie to do the same. He puts a hand around Eddie’s ear and whispers to him, “And she says I’m real impressive!”

Eddie stands up and smiles at him. “More impressive than Ben?” He teases.

Georgie nods. “I hope so!”

He beams down at him and starts to walk to the table where everyone was seated, surrounded by discarded and folded red-and-white striped bags. Bill looks up at him and mouths,  _ Can we talk later? _

Eddie furrows his brows, wondering what for, but nods anyway. Then he turns to Beverly, who is laboring over what will soon be a perfectly boat-shaped bag.“Will you catch me up, Bev?”

She grins, white teeth covered by round red lips. “I’d be  _ honored _ ,” She says dramatically, and Eddie is sure that’s the same tone she used when she told Georgie he was so impressive. She leans in closer and hands him a piece of paper, instructing him on the first couple of folds.

“Looks like Ben’s got some competition, huh?” Eddie says under his breath, sure that only Bev will hear him. He sees her giggle and shake her head.

“He’s going to have to step up his game.” She says quietly, polished nails creasing the bag.

“Paper boats are  _ much _ more of a sustainable income than our tech crew, right?” Eddie agrees, taking the boat-to-be from her once she’s done.

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Yeah, because I’m only dating Ben for his money.” She says sarcastically, bumping her shoulder into Eddie.

“And then, you’re gonna tuck this corner in.” Georgie says loudly.

Bill leans in and whispers something to him. 

“Oh, no, you’re gonna tuck  _ this _ corner in,” he says, rotating the paper to the complete opposite side.

Bev and Eddie did as instructed until they each had a boat of their own. Bev’s was perfect (surprise, surprise,) and Eddie’s was…. neat- _ ish _ , rumpled a touch around the corners.

Eddie looked down at his watch. _Eleven forty-two._ _Shit_. Georgie and Bill were saying something about wax and water, but he wasn’t paying attention. He stood up, pushing his sleeve over his wrist.

“Eddie? Where’re you goin’? We didn’t even make them water-proof yet, you can’t use it without ruining it!” Georgie says, looking up at him with his head tilted to the side.

“It’s okay, bud, how about you just do it for me, and we’ll play later.” Eddie says, grabbing his boat and pushing it towards Georgie.

“Later?” Bev asked with just as much confusion in her voice as Georgie had, “Where are you going  _ now _ ?”

Eddie shook his head. “Just… out. To grab something, I need a refill on my inhaler, and the prescription was ready at eleven thirty.” He couldn’t believe he was lying to Bev- and so easily, too, just to see Richie again. He hadn’t had a refill on his inhaler for at least eight months, but it was apparently enough to convince her. Bill... not so much.

“You haven’t used your inhaler in months.” He points out, his eyes narrowing more like he’s scrutinizing Eddie’s every move. He feels like someone wrote “LIAR” on his forehead in a neon marker.

Eddie blinks.  _ Shit. _ “I’ve been stressed recently. That’s all.”

Bill stares, considering his statement like a judge. Eddie felt like a witness lying under oath. “I still need to t-talk to you, Eddie.” He says carefully.

Eddie’s stomach feels cold. “Yeah. But… later.” He says, and leaves the tent.

____________________

Richie stepped on the growing pile of cigarette butts that the rest of the Bowers gang had considerately tossed in the back of his truck before hopping back up. They were spread around it, Vic and Henry sitting on the bed, Belch standing on a back tire and leaning on the side (Richie couldn’t help but think about how bad that was for the tire). Patrick was sitting on the ground, picking apart bugs with his knife, and Richie and Connor were sitting on the roof of the truck, their legs hanging over the back window. It wasn’t too late, sunset was only just nearing, but Richie wishes that it could just hurry up and be midnight already so he could skip the inevitable.

“Thought you said he went down Jackson street at five, Vic.” Henry said, motioning towards the street sign some feet away from them, and indirectly, at the very empty street.

“I did. I mean, every other week he has been.” Victor said cooly, despite the danger he’d be in if he was wrong.

“It’s a quarter till  _ six, _ Criss.” He spit it out like it was a threat. Henry had a special talent for that- turning simple facts into a reason to make you want to run. Richie wasn’t sure if it was his tone or his general appearance, but it always worked.

“Calm down. Maybe he’s taking so long because he’s bringing his boyfriend with him,” He shot smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Two for the price of one, right?” Connor said, and Richie let out a laugh that sounded so forced he had to pretend it was a cough, just to act calm.  _ God. _

“Yeah,” Henry said, repeating what Connor said under his breath. Belch laughed like it was his joke all along. Everyone else joined in, bar Richie and Connor, who gave him a  _ what-can-you-do _ sort of look, with which he returned with a shrug.

“Hey!” Patrick called suddenly, standing up and wiping his knife off on the thigh of his jeans. “He’s there.”

Everyone’s heads swiveled behind him, their gazes landing on one point, Adrian Mellon. If Richie thought of him like that- a point, a target, it was easier to forget he was a man. It was easier to hit a bulls-eye than it was to break a nose.

“Hey,  _ flamer!”  _ Henry called, stopping the point in his tracks. Richie could see his eyes widen, even from so far. He could see the fight-or-flight reaction fire off in his brain, flickering between the two options.

He chose wrong. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, and Richie wondered just how much that would bite him in the ass. 

The gang started hopping off the truck and advancing towards Adrian. Richie was a few paces behind, closing the bed of the truck. He felt like an asshole, like a bystander with evil intent. Although he supposed that dehumanizing somebody just to make it easier to hurt them wasn’t exactly something a bystander did- he’s the offender. He’s the problem, and he’s too scared of being the victim to do anything about it.

“What do you want?” He asked, making fists at his sides and taking shaky breaths.

The gang was much closer now, within spitting distance of him.

“To give you a reason to get the fuck out of here,” Patrick said, making the sickening snapping noise with his knife, opening and closing, again. Belch cracked his knuckles, and Connor crushed his cigarette under his foot, and every sound filled Richie with disgust. It was all he could do to turn that into anger. Anger at Adrian Mellon for…

For what, exactly? What had he done? Who  _ was _ he?

Richie closed his eyes. He’d ask Connor later. What matters now is that he does his part to stay in the damned gang. Adrian’s eyes flicked down, sizing up the men adjacent to him. Richie stepped forward.

“You guys are-“ He didn’t let Adrian finish before throwing a cross-hit at his jaw. Had he been properly braced, he could have taken the hit with minimal damage, maybe taking a step back. But he didn’t, and he didn’t clench his teeth, and Richie guessed he’d bitten his tongue. At least.

Adrian hit the ground, taking the impact in his shoulder, the momentum reverberating through his neck. His head thudded against the asphalt of their lot, and Henry wasted no time kicking him in the chest immediately after, Richie’s ears filled with  _ thunk, crack, wheeze _ , each sound disgustingly softened by flesh and blood. 

The men surrounded the figure on the ground, each of them taking a blow at his expense. He heard a clatter, and took a step back to see an inhaler fall by his feet. 

_ “I used to have an inhaler. All the time. I don’t need it anymore, but I genuinely think I would have choked on my own lungs without it.” _

He felt some sort of familiarity hit him in the chest, and his heart seizes. For just a second, laying on the ground, had been Eddie instead of Adrian Mellon.

And then Adrian Mellon returns.

Richie pushes his glasses up his nose and kicks the inhaler away.

____________________

“You missed practice.” Stan says as soon as Eddie walks through the tent flaps, and his heart drops. Stan and Bill are standing side by side, like they were waiting for this ambush; Eddie and Richie had gotten hot dogs and he ended up squirting relish in Richie’s hair- he didn’t even think about practice.

“Oh… god. I’m so sorry. Stan-” Eddie tries to explain himself, but he feels too ambushed to properly articulate his words, instead producing a flustered mess.

“Save it.” Stan sighs, crossing his arm over his chest and looking to the boy next to him. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”

Bill clears his throat and steps forward, looking directly at Eddie but then averting his gaze. He shuts his eyes tightly, lets out a breath, and opens them, no doubt trying to get a hold of his own words before he speaks them . Bill doesn’t stutter much anymore due to the self-acceptance he gained from leading a circus and pursuing his dreams, but it always returns when he’s nervous or upset. “This i-ssn’t the first time you missed practice. We luh-l-let it go the other time- assumed you just forgot, but… you’ve been m-missing cues.” 

“And recovering them!” Eddie tries to amend.

Bill glares. “You haven’t been puh-p-practicing enough and your performance is suffering because of it. Not just your cues. You’ve b-been sloppy. You’ve been acting strange. Nobody has seen much of you because you’re g-going out all the time.” 

“Am I not allowed to leave?” Eddie asks, glaring.

“Of course you’re allowed to leave, Eddie. I’d never keep you here against your own will. But you need to step up. Because…”

“Because what, Bill?” Eddie asks softly.

“I’d n-n-nuh-never keep you here i-if y-y-you were r-ruining our sh-sh-sh-shuh-show, either.”

Eddie feels his world shatter and break. He feels his arms go limp and numb, his head fog up, a wave of heat spreading from his core all the way to his ears. It washes over him and engulfs him in panic, and he feels himself start to sweat. “Bill. You don’t- you wouldn’t-” He stammers, feeling helpless. “I don’t have anywhere to go.You found me at a bus station. Please,  _ please-” _

“You don’t have to worry, because it won’t come to that, right?”

Eddie nods vigorously, his chest tight and feeling tears in his eyes. “This is all I have. This is it.”

Bill looks uncomfortable- his arms twitch in the slightest, like he’s about to reach out, but instead he quietly turns on his heel and leaves Eddie and Stan alone. There’s a moments silence before anyone speaks.

“How long did you know he was going to do that?” Eddie asks, but receives no response. This time, ice washes through him at the look of Stan’s face. The way his jaw is set, his eyes carefully averted, tells a story Eddie wishes he didn’t know Stan well enough to read. “It was your idea, wasn’t it?”

There’s no verbal answer, yet that’s an answer enough.

“What’s your fucking damage?” Eddie spits, all the fear inside him bubbling up into anger. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

“Are you trying to ruin the circus?”

Eddie scoffs. “This is my home, Stan! Just as much as yours!  _ Even  _ if you got here long before me.” Stan had been the third member of the circus, right after Bill and Georgie, as he had been their hometown friend that was lucky enough to catch them leaving at the dead of night and had the guts to come along with him. “So I missed two practices! How many have I  _ not  _ missed? Are you so jealous and desperate for someone to like you that not seeing me for a few weeks has you this insecure?”

Stan’s eyes widened. “Someone to like me?” He asks carefully, as if testing Eddie.

Whatever test it is, Eddie passes. Or maybe he fails, depending on what Stan is expecting- nevertheless, he squares his shoulders and responds, “The gang members who handed you your ass certainly didn’t like you very much.”

Stan jumps. Not backwards, in shock, from the sting of the words, but forwards- Eddie feels the pressure against his shoulders first, and then he’s on the ground. Stan is sitting on top of his stomach with his face with such an expression of hurt and betrayal that Eddie can’t do anything else other than gasp. Then he feels the slap across his cheek, and he’s knocked back to his senses.

“Stan! What the hell!” He shouts, trying to grab his friend’s wrists to stop him. This puts them in an awkward struggle with thrashing arms and a lot of grunting.

“Take it back!” Stan shouts, his voice raw. Eddie can see the red in his eyes. “Take it back! Why-” He gasps and shudders and then it’s Beverly yanking Stan back, wrapping her soft arms around his torso and heaving him upwards. Just behind her is the rest of the circus, all coming to see what’s happening and to help.  _ “Why _ would you say that?” Stan finishes with a shaky exhale. Eddie can see that he’s crying, now, and he’s hit with the daunting realization that  _ he made Stan cry.  _

“What did he say?” Kay asks, holding Elliot's hand, but Stan just shakes his head. 

“Nothing.” His voice is raspy. Beverly wraps her arm around him and hugs him- next to her is Ben with his hand resting protectively on her hip. Eddie looks at the seven other faces of the circus across from him and realizes, with shaky knees, that he’s standing alone.

“I- I’m-” Eddie tries to say something, but he doesn’t know what he is. And even though Richie is the reason he’s in the mess, he wishes that he was right there next to him, wrapping his arms around him like Beverly is to Stan. Maybe a little tighter than she is. Maybe a little closer than she is.

“Pathetic. You’re a pathetic loser. I don’t know what’s got into you, but it’s disgusting.  _ You’re  _ disgusting.”

Eddie feels disgusting.  _ Has _ felt disgusting. Because the only thing that’s changed about him is Richie, and they way he feels about Richie is-

“Eddie. Let’s step outside?” Mike walks forward and grabs hold of Eddie’s shoulder firmly, leading him outside. It wasn’t really a question as much as a demand. He takes him through the parking lot to one of the islands with a small section of grass and two trees. 

Eddie sits on the small step the island creates, but stops Mike before he can sit back down next to him. “You don’t have to stay out here with me. You can go inside.” Mike pauses, as if to argue back, but Eddie stops him. “I really just want to be alone.”

Mike leaves without another word. Eddie had expected him to try, just a bit at  _ least _ , to stay.

“Wait!” Eddie calls before he takes even three steps. “I can- this isn’t- I can come back, right? This isn’t me.. being kicked out?”

Mike shakes his head quickly. “No. No, Eddie, of course not. Bill didn’t mean that. He’s just been… stressed recently because-” Mike furrows his brows. “Didn’t- Bill said that Stan was telling you, too?”

“Stan and I haven’t talked in a while.” Eddie’s voice is so weak, it sounds like someone else said it.

“Oh.” Mike frowns. “Just take a breather, okay? And come inside when you’re ready.”

Eddie’s throat starts to hurt from holding in tears, and he’s sure Mike can see how much he’s straining. “O-okay. See you soon.”

“Later, Eddie.”

Mike turns and begins walking back to the tent.

____________________

Eddie genuinely thinks he’s going to sleep in the parking lot, because walking back into the circus tent to face Stan and the others seems unbearable. He even considers calling Richie and asking to sleep there, but the thought of sleeping at the same place as Richie makes his skin crawl in a way he doesn’t care to explain. He might have been sitting there for hours, but can’t tell because he doesn’t have a watch- he used to wear an allergy bracelet, but always had to take it off to perform, and most of the allergies had been faked by Sonia, anyway. The only passage of time Eddie can feel is himself slowly getting colder as he starts to shiver, his eyes still locked on the tent with a soft glow from the lights inside. He wraps his arms around his legs and rests his chin on his knees, waiting for something. He’s not sure what, yet.

He doesn’t move from this position for a while until he sees the tent flap shift and then open, and Stan exits from it. Half of him wants to run to Stan. The other half wants to run away. He decides on neither, instead staying frozen in his spot as the other boy walks closer. Stan is charging, and Eddie briefly has a thought of Stan coming up running and kicking his head off like a soccer ball. Instead, he stops about six feet away from Eddie and crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s fucking cold out here.”

Eddie blinks at him. “Yeah.” He says. The sound of his own voice almost shocks him.

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a dick.”

Eddie pauses. “...Yeah.”

Stan nods and walks up to Eddie, sitting down next to him and looking at the pavement of the ground. “What you said… wasn’t okay. It was really shitty. They would have killed me if you didn’t come- we all know that.”

“I know. I know. I was just so angry. I’m sorry. I- I know you’re not insecure or any of the things that I said. I was way out of line.” He says, his stomach twisting. He had been so scared and angry, and all he wanted to do was to hurt Stan back- he had been so helpless that the only thing he felt could save him would be to bite and not let go.

“You were scared.” Stan offers. “Bill would never kick you out. I would never let him. Nobody would. And I definitely shouldn’t have jumped on you.”

“I deserved it.” Eddie says with a small smile.

Stan laughs. “Maybe a little.” Then he looks at Eddie, facing him with a small and content grin slightly tugging up the corners of his lips. But it wavers, and then it drops. “But we need to know what’s been going on. Why you’ve been out so much. Why you’ve been messing up.”

And Eddie wants to tell the truth. He wants to tell him so badly, but if there’s anything that he just learned, it’s that the best way to drive Stan away is any affiliation with Richie or the Bowers gang. That if he were to tell the truth, Stan would stand up, walk away, and he would never come back.

So, he does the best that he can.

“I’m scared.” He says, voice just above a whisper. And it’s true. He is. Something big is happening, and yet he won’t allow himself to register what. And then suddenly the truth is too scary, so he tells the best lie he can think of on the spot. “It’s just… you were right outside the tent when it happened? And the only thing that separates the outside from the inside is a piece of fabric and our janitor, if they’re on duty. Being at the tent scares me.”

“Oh.” Stan says, kind of dumbly. “Eddie, why didn’t you say that? We can do the relocation faster. It’s only an extra half hour, but I don’t think any of them care enough to drive it.”

Eddie wants to correct him, because Richie cares enough. Just not in the way Stan thinks. “You’re right.” He agrees anyway. “But you don’t have to move anything. Promise. I’ll be okay. It’s just a week more, right?”

“Little less.” Stan shrugs. Then he claps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and smiles. “See? That was all. Just a little talking and we’re good again.”

“We’re good? Promise?” Eddie asks, lifting up his pinky finger.

Stan nods and catches Eddie’s pinky on his own, locking in the promise. “I swear, Eddie.”

As fast as he can, he wraps his arms around Stan in the tightest hug he can muster- he had missed him for so long, even though he’s been seeing him. For a while, they had hardly really  _ talked. _

“We…  _ love  _ you? Okay?” Stan mutters into Eddie’s shoulder.

“I love you guys, too.” Eddie responds.

“And I have something to tell you.” Stan continues.

Eddie pauses and pulls back, his hands resting on each of Stan’s shoulders. “Mike said something about that.”

His friend pales. “He told you?” The look on Stan’s face is grave and daunting, his mouth slightly parted in a small, agape horror. It’s enough to make Eddie’s stomach twist, because a look like that can’t mean that any news Stan might have to break is joyful.

“No. Just that you… had to say something? And Bill. Is something wrong? It’s not about me, is it?” He asks, thinking back to how hopeless he felt at the notion of Bill throwing him out, making him forced to live on the street, or worse, back at home.

“No!” Stan’s eyes widened. “No, it’s good.” He pauses. “I think. I hope.”

“What is it, then?”

Stan takes a shaky inhale. “Well. Bill and I. We’ve known each other for a while now. We didn’t really get close until the circus started, but we’ve always known each other. Always liked each other. And now… we like each other more.” He looks at Eddie tentatively. “A lot more. We… love each other.”

Eddie smiles, but he’s confused. “Yeah, I know? You guys are my family.”

“No. I mean… I’m… gay. Bill and I are together. Like Ben and Beverly. It happened a few days ago. We were sitting together and I made a joke about Joyce and… I don’t know what happened. He just kissed me. And he told me he loves me.”

Eddie is winded. Eddie isn’t listening to Stan, but he thinks he might be imagining it because there’s no way-  _ no way- _ “What?”

“Don’t be mad.” Stan says desperately. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He says quickly, beginning to look and sound panicked. His eyes are turning red again, and  _ shit,  _ Eddie’s made him cry again.

His head and mouth feels funny, like he’s bit into aluminum foil. He doesn’t want Stan to be upset. That isn’t what he meant at all. Because things like this are what people get killed for. It’s what Stan had almost gotten killed for. And Eddie doesn’t ever want Stan to be scared, wants Stan to know that he’ll always be there to hit bullies over the head with a bottle, and would be willing to do anything to save him. However, he cant particularly articulate this, and instead the words out of his mouth are, “I just don’t- Bill and Joyce? And Kay, that one time? And all of those-”

“He likes girls and boys. It’s called bisexual?” Stan looks at him helplessly. “Are you mad?”

“No! No, of course not.” Eddie quickly amends. “I just… Why?”

“Why?” Stan repeats his eyebrows furrowing. Eddie notices how tense his arms get.

“Won’t you get sick from that?” He asks tentatively, the voice of Sonia playing in the back of his head like it so often did when he was younger. It makes him feel like a little kid, reprimanded by his own mind. “Isn’t it… dirty?”

Stan’s face falls. “So, just because the Bowers gang says it, it’s true?”

“Of course not!” Eddie shakes his head as fast as he can and takes Stan’s hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care about that. It’s okay. You and Bill are perfect.” He smiles.

With a shaky breath of reassurance, Stan pushes himself forward and wraps his arms around the other’s neck. “We’re so stupid. We should have just  _ talked.” _

Eddie repeats, “So stupid.”

Stan pulls back as a tear rolls down his cheek, yet his smile tells Eddie that the tears are from relief now, not fear. “Bill and I love each other. And if we love each other, it can’t be wrong, right? No matter what anybody says.”

Eddie grasps for something inside himself that he can’t reach. “Exactly, Stan.  _ Exactly.” _


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've been very excited to post this chapter :)
> 
> -jjjjuicy

Hands. It’s all Eddie can think about, desperately-  _ hands.  _ They’re on his shoulders and brushing his hips and pulling on his thighs, and Eddie’s doing all he can to stay level-headed; he feels like he’s swimming through water, but at the same time, everything feels crystal clear. Suddenly, he’s pushed backwards, and his back hits something hard that would have left him breathless if the hands against him didn’t already have that honor. The bottom of his shirt is pulled upwards. He shivers, from both the contact of skin on skin and the coldness in the air.

Then, there’s more than hands. He feels a mouth against his neck and the ghosting of their nose, an entire body keeping him flat against the wall. Eddie shudders and brings his hands to the person’s shoulders, gripping hard.

And now the hands continue their movement, continue moving, moving down-

“Richie,” Eddie gasps. “Richie, wait-”

Eddie wakes up desperately wheezing, feeling as if he needs his inhaler for the first time in over a year. He tries to calm himself, but his heart is hammering in his chest, only one emotion prevalent in his head-

Fear. Pure and unadulterated fear.

He stands up and begins pacing his bedroom, thinking too many thoughts to stop the panic setting over him. Dreams are normal, he knows, but dreams about  _ boys  _ are another story. Dreams about boys get you knifed and killed.

Eddie doesn’t want to think that Stan and Bill are dirty like how society deems them, doesn’t want to think that at all, but he knows that no matter how hard he fights it, that’s how other people are always going to see them. People like Stan and Bill are always going to be abused and outcasted, destined to never be accepted, people like Stan and Bill  _ and  _ Eddie-

Eddie shakes his head and almost jumps, repulsed from the thought.  _ And  _ people like Eddie? People like Eddie- that’s just normal people. Eddie isn’t like Stan and Bill.

Except…

Except, though he never saw a face, a name had escaped from his lips, pulled without any hesitation.

And in the quiet of his own room, Eddie whispers it again.

“Richie  _ fucking _ Tozier…”

__________

“You look like hell.” Stan says as soon as he sees Eddie walk onto the stage for practice. After living with Stan for so long, they’ve both come to the mutual agreement that the pleasantries of a greeting are beneath their level of friendship.

  
  


“Didn’t sleep last night.” Eddie responds in a monotone voice, reaching up to the highest point on the silks and pulling himself up, beginning to use a classic climb in order to get the midpoint. Once there, he lowers himself to a seated position and grabs underneath his unwrapped left foot with his left hand. This position allows for him to completely lower his body down into a position where he flexes his wrapped foot to keep the fabric pinched in place, enabling him to release his right hand and pose.

From the ground, Stan speaks up. “Point your left foot.” He says incredulously, as if Eddie’s broken a fundamental law of nature. But in the circus, he kind of did.

“Shit.” He swears and does so, styling himself. “Do I look okay?”

“Yeah. Great! It was just your toes. How tired are you? Should you be performing?”

“I’m not brain dead because I forgot to point my toes.” Eddie counters, his voice coming out a little weaker than normal because he’s climbing the tail to get out of the pose. He perches and then straightens his legs to let the fabrics untangle from his limbs and climbs down, up again, and then down one more time.

He and Stan spend the hour or so reviewing tricks and pointing out faults, as well as switching apparatuses halfway through despite both of their obvious preferences. Eddie finds his mind wandering, wanting to tell Stan that maybe he’s like him, that maybe there’s something  _ wrong  _ with him, too, but holds back.

If he mentioned any of that- which he doesn’t really want to talk about anyway, because saying it out loud makes it real- then he would have to talk about his dream, and that would mean he would have to talk about Richie and that…

Is a whole other problem. Stan would never forgive Eddie for being friends with Richie, let alone-

Let alone-

Eddie actually doesn’t know how he feels about Richie anymore. He just knows that Stan hates Richie, but Eddie loves Stan.

And if Eddie had to choose, he’d pick Stan. Every time.

__________

Richie makes an appearance at the show that night. He walks into the tent already beaming, waiting at the bleachers he always stands at when he comes to shows so Eddie can know where to go to find him. Like usual, Eddie goes to see Richie, but unlike usual, doesn’t share the same excitement as him.

“Spaghetti! Hey! I’m using my free pass because I lost my wallet somewhere in my apartment.” He laughs. When he notices Eddie doesn’t laugh, or crack a smile and try to hide it, at  _ least _ , he continues. “Maybe I left it in your mom’s house, because we always end up ripping each other’s clothes off, and it might have fallen out of my pocket when I was reaching for a condom.”

“The friction in a pocket ruins the integrity of a condom.” Eddie says automatically, but he still doesn’t smile. Instead, he crosses his arms. “Sorry. This isn’t what I came over here for. I came because-”

“Because you missed me?” Richie dramatically bats his eyelashes.

“Because I think you should go.”

Richie lets out an aborted chuckle, as if he isn’t sure if Eddie’s joking or not. “What, Eds?”

“Just- get out of here, Richie! Okay?”

When Eddie performs that night, he hits every pose perfectly and doesn’t miss a single cue. Stan congratulates him later with a happy hug and an exclamation of  _ “Eddie Kaspbrak is back in business, alright!”, _ but, with a sinking feeling, Eddie realizes the smile he gave in return to Stan’s excitement wasn’t as real as it should have been.

__________

Richie left the tent, opening the flaps and not looking back. His mind was still focused on Eddie, regardless of the growing distance between the men. 

_ “Just- get out of here, Richie! Okay?” _

He replays the words over and over in his head, unintentionally changing the inflection each time to soften the blow of the fact that Eddie  _ wanted him gone. _ It hurt because he wasn’t used to it. Sure, sometimes he felt out of place around the Bowers gang, but he didn’t ever let it get to him. Connor, even, never pushed him directly away, but he knew when he wasn’t wanted. And it never caused him pain or anything, he just left and ignored it.

But  _ Eddie? _ If Eddie didn’t want him around, who did? Who would?

He found himself at a bus stop, rubbing his eyes underneath his thick glasses. He didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t just go home and pity himself. Richie felt in his pockets for his wallet, pulling it out and checking to see that his fake I.D. was still there. It was thanks to Vic that he had it. Vic always knew who to talk to to get things- Drugs, information, fake I.D.’s. Richie tried not to let it worry him too much. After all, it was thanks to him that “Gary Fibbs” was getting a drink tonight.

  
  


__________

Richie was two shots in before he took a good look around the shitty bar he’s lodged himself in. It’s your typical all-hours bar, with mysterious stains on the carpet and scratched up tables. The people there were fairly predictable as well, a middle aged man, some sleep-deprived druggie, and… Oh.

Across the room is a girl. Conventionally attractive, alone, and making desperate eye contact.

Richie slides down to where she’s sitting. She giggles as though it’s an introduction. “Hi,” She says, looking him up and down.

“Hey.” He says, trying to keep a straight face but failing, joining her in pointless chuckles.

“Hello,” She says again. “I’m Amanda.” She was twirling a lock of brown hair around a glittered fingertip.

“I’m Richie.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She feigns a gasp. “My, what a gentleman.”

_ If only. _ Richie turned and ordered them both shots. She didn’t know what was wrong with him. He felt sort of like an asshole- interacting with a girl for  _ one reason. _ She probably didn’t know she was flirting with a total douchebag. She was too pretty for Richie, but he’d always felt that way about girls.

“That makes one of us. What’s a nice girl like you doing out at,” He checked his watch as the bartender gave them their drinks. “One AM on a weeknight?”

She smiles, a smile coated in red lipstick, and picks up the drink. “Suckering cute boys into buying me drinks.” She states as she’s knocking back the shot.

“That you are, that you are.” He said, taking his as well. It felt hot in the back of his throat- burning, really -but his face was just as hot and his brain wasn’t focusing. He figured he could handle another shot. 

__________

“Wait, what? You were afraid of  _ clowns _ when you were little?” Amanda says incredulously, on the verge of another fit of giggles. Her laugh is repetitive and loud. 

Richie nods. “Yeah, yeah, I admit it. It was kind of dumb, but hey. I was little, and in my defense, clowns are, at least,  _ weird as fuck. _ Full grown men in rainbows and makeup? What the fuck.” He said, decomposing into laughter at the end of his sentence.

She smiles and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “That’s completely true. Real men don’t…” She hiccups. “Wear makeup. Men in general don’t.”

Richie furrows his brow. “How do  _ you _ know what real men do?”

She looks at him. “Well, I’m looking at one, am I not?”

“Oh,” Richie says, straightening his back. “Y-yeah. Clearly.”

She grins and tilts her head. “You want to go back to my place?” 

“Uh.” Richie says as an answer, even though it most definitely is not. Acceptable answers consist of ‘yes's and… Was ‘no’ really an option? He was going to be seen as weird for it, right? Here’s a hot girl who’s obviously down- what reason does he have to say no? But there was something unrecognizable telling him it was a bad idea, down in the pit of his stomach. “No.” He says cautiously, dragging out the syllable as though it were a question.

“What?”

“I mean… to go there, one of us would have to drive, and drunk driving is a really bad idea, I should probably just go home.” He rambles, hoping she’ll take his bullshit answer.

“Oh! We could call a cab?” She asks hopefully. 

“No.” Richie said, and with that, he slapped a ten on the counter (which was ridiculously more than the total cost, not that he realized at that moment) and left.

He thought a lot of things when he got outside. Like,  _ Where did I park _ and  _ It’s cold  _ and  _ She was annoying _ and  _ Eddie isn’t. _ Because every time he thought, he thought of Eddie. Every time he  _ was, _ Eddie was there. He was entangled into every real part of Richie, all the true bits and pieces were his discoveries. He couldn’t do anything without memories of Eddie ingrained into the task. 

Eddie was a constant factor in Richie’s life, but the thing is, is that it wasn’t annoying. It never got old or repetitive. It was almost like the Eddie-filled thoughts were the break, the relief between chores. 

Nobody had ever been that important to Richie before, and he hoped it went the other way around too. He didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t as important to Eddie. Probably something pathetic, like still think of him anyway.

And  _ Oh, _ Richie needed to see him, regardless of if he wanted to. It was okay. He’d fix everything.

__________

The bar Richie had landed himself in had only been a few minutes drive from the circus, so the drive back would be a few minutes, too. However, even drunk, he knows not to drive, but he’d walk any amount of miles to see Eddie. So he picks his drunk ass up off of his stool and begins his trek.

It’s not much of a trek (it’s on sidewalk) and he’ll most likely forget most of it in the morning, but he hopes he remembers when he stared at a plastic bag for three minutes trying to figure out what kind of bird it is because that would be a funny story to tell Eddie. Eddie would probably throw his head back and give that little chuckle he does, where his cheeks flush red and creases form at the corner of his eyes. If Richie was lucky, Eddie would shoulder him or hit him playfully, and if he was  _ really  _ lucky, Eddie would call him an ‘idiot’ or a ‘dumbass’ and the both of them would look at each other for just a moment too long because they both know he doesn’t mean it.

Richie thinks about how much he craves that laugh, that moment of contact, the endearing words. The thoughts carry him, light on his feet, to the circus tent. He thinks about the people in there who he hasn’t met, and then he thinks of the people he has, and quickly realizes that Stan is going to know who he is if he doesn’t make some… costume changes. His fuzzed brain decides it’s best to peel off his jacket and throw it into a bush before attempting to enter the tent. He stops just before he does and then puts his glasses there, too, because they’re also a distinguishable part of him. Then, he prays, and stumbles his way inside. He can see exactly one human shaped blob fiddling with a long red something hanging from the ceiling that Richie identifies as silk.

“Hello?” The smear of color says in Eddie’s voice before seemingly turning around. Then, in a whisper-shout, “Richie!”

The blurry figure comes running towards him and is soon just a foot away from him, talking madly about how Richie’s such an idiot for coming and where are your glasses, asshole? Can you see a thing without them?

“Didn’t want anyone to recognize me.” Richie mumbles. Blob-Eddie grabs Richie by the arm and leads him outside. “Where are we going?” Richie asks, staring at the point of contact.  _ I like him.  _ Richie thinks.  _ I like HIM.  _ The said point of contact just looks like every other thing- a mash of color and not much else- but the pressure where Eddie is squeezing actually  _ tingles,  _ and not because his grip is so hard it could make Richie’s arm go numb. He wants Eddie to touch and grab him more. He wants Eddie to wrap his hand around something else. Preferably Richie’s-

“You’re so dumb. I hate you. Is that your jacket?”

“Is it in a bush? Then it’s my jacket. Do you really hate me?”

Eddie is silent for a second. “No.” He eventually responds. Richie is pulled to the pushes, and then his jacket is given to him, and then his glasses. Richie doesn’t move, instead opting to stare at the objects in his hands. “Oh my god.” Eddie sighs and lets go of Richie’s arm. The lost contact is quickly made up for when Eddie pulls the glasses out of his hands and opens them, gently sliding them past Richie’s ears and onto the bridge of his nose. He smiles, his hands still resting at the sides of Richie’s head, just in front of his ears. All Richie would have to do is lean forwards… “All good?” Eddie asks. His hands drop.

Richie nods and then puts on his own jacket.

“You’re drunk, right?”

Richie nods again.

“You’re the dumbest person alive. You drove here drunk?”

“Walked.” Richie answers.

Eddie’s eyes fly open. “From your apartment to here?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Richie scoffs, although if he had gotten drunk at his apartment instead he probably would have walked to the circus regardless. “I was at a bar close to here? A pretty girl tried to sleep with me.”

“Oh.” Eddie answers quietly, clearing his throat and looking straight ahead. Then he looks back up to Richie, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Tried to?”

“Tried to. Didn’t happen. I don’t like girl.” Richie says confidently, then realizing his slip up. “That girl. I don’t like that specific girl. I’m drunk.” Richie covers quickly. He keeps eye contact with his friend tentatively, watching his facial expressions and waiting for him to say something. Richie’s not going to think about what he said. That’s too much to actually say. That’s supposed to stay in his head.

Eddie just looks at him strangely and grabs onto his arm again, this time lighter than before. “So you don’t fall. Where are your keys? We’ll walk back to your car and I’ll drive you home.”

Richie sticks his free hand into his pocket and fishes out his keys, handing them to Eddie and continuing to walk with him. They don’t say much until about halfway there, when Richie frowns. “You didn’t tell anyone you’re driving me home. You should-”

“It’s fine. I don’t need anyone's permission to leave. I’m not a prisoner.” Eddie replies. “I can leave whenever I want. I like that. I didn’t always have that freedom.”

“When-”

“My mom. Let’s not get into it, okay? What I mean is that you don’t have to worry. There’s no way I’m letting you sleep in your backseat, or  _ worse-  _ the  _ ground.” _

“Oh, Eds! You  _ care  _ about me! I thought you hate me.” Richie frowns, mostly teasing. Sometimes he gets the feeling that Eddie can’t stand him, but he knows that it isn’t true when he’s in the back corner of the circus, watching Eddie perform, and he can see Eddie scanning the audience. Scanning it for  _ him.  _ There’s nothing more satisfying than the small light of realization that’s on Eddie’s face when he sees Richie in the audience.

Eddie scowls, looking up to him with a strange sort of vulnerability that makes Richie freeze in place. “I could never,  _ ever,  _ hate you, Richie. Okay?” 

Richie thinks about all the things he wants to say and do, how badly he wants just to be able to hold Eddie, to meet his friends and not have to worry, to be able to kiss the creases by his eyes when he laughs. His stomach starts to feel cold and the world starts to feel loopy with the possibility of just giving in and kissing Eddie, of being able to feel his lips against his just once, even if it got his ass kicked. Even if it got him killed.

And then he realizes his stomach might feel like that for a different reason.

Instead of something groundbreaking and life changing, Richie looks to Eddie with a look of what can only be described as extreme despair and says, “I think I’m going to puke.”

__________

Eddie used to hate it when his mother grabbed his cheeks, but when Beverly does it, he doesn’t mind. Sometimes she just likes to squeeze them, and coos even though she’s not even a year older than him. Right now, she’s doing it for his makeup because he can’t sit still.

“So, what spurred you to have a little extra tonight?” Beverly asks, grinning at him like she knows something.

The usually comforting smile of Beverly Marsh makes a wave of heat wash through his body, immediately making his back sticky, and his heart pound. “What? Nothing? What are you talking about? Don’t be absurd.” He answers. He grips the side of his chair tightly, feeling the ridges of it pressed harshly into his palms.

Beverly just laughs and leans forward, brushing something onto his cheek and then turning back to her assortment of paints and powders. “Don’t go acting so innocent. I  _ know.” _

“What are you talking about?” Eddie asks slowly. The tent must be collapsing, because he feels like the walls are caving in. He feels like he might pass out, like Beverly might turn into some wicked, warped mirage with razor-sharp teeth and tear him limb from limb and snicker and jeer and slash and rip-

“There’s a girl in the crowd you’re trying to impress, isn’t there?” She laughs, lightly hitting his shoulder. Eddie allows his tension to slip away and forces a smile to go onto his face.

“No. No, why would you think that?”

“You’re  _ smiling!” _

“Because you’re embarrassing me, Beverly! Stop it!” Eddie responds and bats her hand away when she goes to poke his nose.

“Eddie’s in lo-ove! Eddie’s in lo-ove!” She sings, countering his swatting with more poking. Eventually, Eddie just worms his way out of his chair and past her, denying her teasing. At least this form of jeering is more tolerable than the kind that Eddie had envisioned, where Beverly calls him disgusting and throws him out on his ass even though he knows she wouldn’t. Or suspects she wouldn’t. He isn’t sure about how many people know about Stan and Bill, and Eddie doesn’t want to be the asshole that reveals their relationship to the rest of the circus. It’s not his job to tell anyone if Stan and Bill aren’t ready for them to know yet.

Beverly sighs and puts down the brush she’s holding, placing it neatly inside one of her brush pouches and then turning back to Eddie. She looks at him with a lazy smile, the tiniest hint of an upturn to her lips as she looks at him contently.

“I know that Stan and Bill thought you were acting weird,” She begins, look at Eddie. Eddie looks back with an expression of a mixture of concern and confusion at how the sentence may end. “And you were, I agree. But, not just weird. Also… happier. So if there’s something you’re not telling us because you think it’s so horrible, I promise you it isn't as bad as you think. Not if it’s making you this happy.” She says.

“Beverly…”

“I’m sure she’s fantastic, Eddie.” She smiles. “Especially because most girls are so odd about boys in makeup.”

“You’re an angel.” Eddie laughs. “But… that isn’t what this is.”

Bev presses her lips together. “Okay. Well, whenever you’re ready.”

  
  


__________

Beverly watches as Eddie leaves, looking at the empty space he once filled with an air of confusion. Moments later, her boyfriend walks inside.

“Ben!” She says.

“I just walked past Eddie. You did his make up?” Ben asks, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the other boy. He looks intrigued, always interested in Bev’s artistic makeup-ing although he’d never indulge.

“Yeah. He was just in one of those moods, I guess.” Beverly answers as he places his hands on her hips and brings her close to him. He starts swaying, slightly. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing.” Ben replies. “Dance with me.”

Beverly grins and lifts her arms to wrap around his neck. They sway together for a bit in silence, the only noise between them being muted chatter from outside and Ben occasionally telling Beverly that she’s stepping on his foot. Bev leans her head on Ben’s shoulder and he kisses the top of her head. Her stomach flutters. “So, what’s with the dancing?” Beverly asks, voice slightly altered because of the pressure on her cheek.

“I needed to stretch my legs. I’ve been sitting for a while.” Then he sighs. “And I talked to Stan and Bill. Did they…?” He begins, not finishing his sentence. Beverly can feel his shoulder tense up and then relax, but elects to ignore it.

She puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes back. “Oh. Yeah.” She says, looking up to him.

“And you…?’

Beverly frowns. “I don’t really care, I guess.” She says, her hand trailing up into his hair and beginning to twirl the short strands. “I love you. I want to get married to you one day, and have kids…” She smiles, trailing off.

“A girl, Elfrida, Ellie for short, and a boy, named Timothy, with Timmy for short.” Ben adds.

“Yes.” Bev kisses his cheek. “And if we’re in love, and we want that, why can’t they?”

“You’re amazing, Ms. Marsh.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hanscom.”

__________

Right now, smiles and cheers meant nothing to Eddie. Absolutely nothing. Dirt. The only thing that mattered in this moment as he was going to take his bows was that a boy in a leather jacket named Richie Tozier is in the back right, watching him and clapping even though he’s seen the act enough to be able to watch it like a movie in his head.

Even though Richie comes to the show almost every night, more often than not, Eddie never can quite wrap his head around the visceral enjoyment that comes from seeing Richie in the crowd and watching him perform. Maybe it’s because he’s never had anyone to perform  _ for-  _ only  _ with.  _ It’s nice having a friend on the other side of things, watching and supporting simply because he wants to. He knows that Mike and Ben and Stan and Bill and Beverly and Elliot and Kay all encourage him in the circus, but a tiny part of him knows that that’s their job. Especially since the fight, Eddie has been hyper aware of this, though he tells himself that he shouldn’t, that everyone was just angry, that even if he’d suddenly never been able to perform again, everyone would still love him the same.

Eddie knows that’s true. He does. He just doesn’t feel it sometimes.

With Richie, though… He can’t exactly say he loves Richie yet, because he knows he loves Stan like a brother and he definitely doesn’t see Richie the same way. They’ll probably work towards it. However, he always wants to be around Richie and always wants him there. Eddie finds himself laughing at jokes and checking to see if Richie thinks it funny, even if he’s not there. He finds himself always looking for Richie, doing a double take when he thinks he sees him sitting in the bleachers, or seeing something that reminds him of him and laughing to himself.

Eddie smiles as brightly as he can at Richie and takes his bow.

When he looks back up, he realizes his heart is slamming in his chest, and he’s thinking about love again, and he’s thinking about different kinds of love, all different kinds, and something twists in his stomach, something pulls, something forces him backstage and away from Richie Tozier. And he doesn’t think he wants to find out what.

__________

Richie wasn’t sure what to get Adrian Mellon. A balloon seemed too cheerful, flowers too… Close. A get-well-soon card felt insensitive.  _ Where were the cards that read, ‘Sorry for jumping your ass for no reason, I hope you at least landed a neat hospital room. X.O.X.O, the gang member that threw the first punch’? _ He eventually decided on some kind of dime candy, almost shoving it in his pocket and walking out, then deciding that Adrian was worth paying the ten fucking cents.

  
  
  
  


Richie also isn’t very sure how to  _ get _ to Adrian Mellon once inside. He just had to go up and talk to the lady, right? What if she asked if he was family? What would he say?

“Hello?” The lady at the desk doesn’t say anything, writing something on a file, or whatever. She’s blonde, and probably conventionally pretty. She seemed boring. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hello? Hi. I’d like to visit somebody? His name is Adrian Mellon.” He sounds much less confident than he had in weeks, and he found it strange that that lady acted as a catalyst to the falter.

She looks him up and down. She takes a pen from a cup and hands it to him, ripping a sticker off a sheet. It said  _ VISITOR _ in big black words, with a space underneath to write his name. He does so (the pen didn’t dry quick enough to keep up with his hand, smudging it along the sticker and the side of his left palm.) and then sticks it on his shirt. “He’ll be in room…” She glances at an open file. “Two-hundred-seventy.”

He looked at her a moment too long, like he expected to have to pass some sort of exam to go in. But when her shifted glance made it clear he had no further expectations, he headed to the right, following a sign that said  _ ‘Rooms 200-315’. _

He finds the room with the door wide open..

And his mouth goes just a bit dry.

He walks in, not quite sure what he expects to see. Whatever he thought he would see is about ten times more tame than what was actually there. Richie was almost sure he would be sitting up on his own, at  _ least _ , but he had enough pillows to suffocate a fucking elephant behind him.

Adrian looks up slowly, not really noting his appearance at first. Then he looks back up, and  _ really _ sees him. “If you’ve come to get me, finish me off, there are people all around. You couldn’t lay a finger on me without alerting staff.” His words are fleeting, scared, and each one hits Richie with a pang of guilt. They were also slurred, somewhat, which confused him until he realized he was probably loaded with painkillers.

“No, no,” Richie starts, and then sighs. “I’m sorry. I really am. Can I sit?” He motions toward a very stiff looking chair. Adrian shakes his head. Richie could hear his breathing go faster, the ventilator trying to keep up. “Fair enough.” He says quietly, leaning against the doorway.

“Then what in the god-fearing fuck do  _ you _ want?” Adrian says from the bed, throwing him a withering glare.

He pulls the candy out of his pocket and tosses it onto his lap, not wanting to cross any sort of boundary. “I came to apologize. And, explain, really. There isn’t any good excuse out there for what I did- it was fucked up.” Adrian nods, his hands drawn together and ignoring the candy. 

“Look at that, an agreement. Between me and a Bowers gang member, who’da thunk?” Adrian bats his eyelashes sarcastically.

“But I only had two options,” He rushes out, ignoring his comment. “I could either hurt you or-or  _ be _ you.” His voice is almost pleading for understanding.

“Oh.” He says simply. They sit for a minute in silence. “So you’re…”

Richie looks at him in the eyes, deeper than he’d ever really looked before. Seeing fear, vulnerability, but also understanding. He nods. “Yeah. Maybe. At least, I think so, I’m not very sure yet. How-how did you know?”

Adrian lets out a tiny smile. Richie figures it hurts, he has a nasty cut in the corner of his mouth. It might’ve even needed stitches. “I think the only- Don!” His attention turns immediately to a man behind him. A very tense, angry man, who looks like he’s about to take the flower in his hands and use them for a very different purpose- most likely beating Richie upside the head.

His expression is harsh, and fully focused on Richie. “Who are you?” He turns to the man in the bed. “Is he the one that hurt you?” He asks, with an anger in his eyes that has no mind for rules. Adrian nods.

“I-uh,” Richie stammers, looking to Adrian for an excuse. He doesn’t offer one. “Just. Visiting, apologizing. What I- _ we _ did to him was super shitty, and he didn’t deserve it,” He presses himself up against the doorway. He wasn’t very intimidated, not really. Richie could beat the shit out of him if he wanted- but that was the problem. He already had, to Adrian, and it was almost a courtesy when he let Don take up more space than him. In his eyes, at least.

“You should go. You don’t belong here, and you shouldn’t have been here in the first place.” Don said it like it was a warning, his demeanor as dangerous as a twitchy finger laying on a trigger. 

He says okay, backs out and mumbles another sorry.

“Wait,” Adrian says from the bed. Don shifts, just a bit, to let him see him better. “You asked how I knew? When I realized I couldn’t just look  _ past _ boys any more, when one of them took up my whole field of vision and your whole train of thought,” He glances at the man next to him. “You’ll know you love  _ him _ .”

“I didn’t say it was anybody specifically…” Richie says quietly, noting the singularity in the word ‘him’. He thinks of how the whole world melts away when he sees Eddie perform, or Eddie laughs, or Eddie walking besides him, or just… Eddie.

Adrian tilts his head and grins a bit more. “I don’t think that you had to. You thought of someone, didn’t you?

Richie backs out completely, leaving the hospital in almost a sprint. Running once he got out, as though running from Adrian was the same as running from the problem. The problem was that Adrian was, in fact, not mistaken. A name had popped into his head.

Eddie  _ fucking _ Kaspbrak’s, no less.

__________

Richie was stunned at Adrian’s normalcy, the way he had talked to Richie like a normal person, but what else was Richie to expect? Adrian didn’t grow an extra arm because he likes boys. He simply… exists.

Richie drops the keys to his apartment onto the scuffed end table, falling onto the couch before taking his jacket off. He notes the smell of his apartment-he always does, because he hates it. It never changes, no matter what he tries. It smells like nicotine and tar, like regret.

Regret.

He regrets hurting Adrian and throwing the first punch. Kicking his inhaler away- he was  _ cruel, _ and he despised it because it was all impulse. That that was his first fucking thought, to hit him before he could threaten him, to kick the inhaler before it could help Adrian. 

Adrian had done nothing to anybody, except for having the audacity to exist. The thought pressed on Richie’s brain uncomfortably, making his head hurt. He releases the air from his lungs slowly, leaning forwards and rests his elbows on his knees. He takes another deep breath, but the pain doesn’t alleviate from his skull, making his head feel like it’s going to pop and he can’t do anything about it except wait for his brains to splatter against the walls and paint them grey and red. He wants to shout, but instead just puts his head in his hands and waits for the pain to subside.

It doesn’t. It grows.

“Shit.” Richie says to himself, alone in his apartment. His voice sounds small and weak and his throat is hurting now, too, though he realizes this is from struggling to hold back tears and not the same divine stroke of karma is trying to turn his head into a popcorn kernel under a heat lamp. All at once, a sob is pulled from him like a faucet of emotion with a broken handle, because as soon as the first strangled cry leaves his mouth, another one follows. He feels weak, sitting in his apartment and crying, but then he wonders how much Adrian’s head hurt, how weak he must have felt, and Richie’s pain doubles. Somewhere in his head, he can understand that the pain is only a projection, but right now, he can’t rationally grasp that.

He’s a horrible person. That’s all he can think about. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness or happiness or anything that good people should get, because he’s not one of them. He’s narcissistic and self-serving. He’s a jackass. He can’t begin to fathom why Eddie would hang out around him when he had known how horrible he was from the start. Eddie had known when hit Richie with a  _ fucking bottle  _ and Richie deserved it _.  _ Eddie should hate him.

There’s a table in front of him. Patrick would put his feet up on this table whenever he was over, no matter how many times Richie asked him not to, and suddenly Richie’s head was out of his hands and his hands are on the table and the table’s off the ground and now it’s all the way across his apartment and Richie can’t think and Richie can’t breathe and his head fucking hurts and his ears are ringing and he deserves it because he’s a horrible, horrible, person and  _ Richie can’t breathe _ , and Richie had kicked away Adrian’s inhaler, and Richie thinks he’s dying.

“Shit!” Richie shouts, his voice reverberating around the room. He’s standing now, facing his tossed table that had made a dent in the wall where it made impact, though he couldn’t care less. He probably should, because he’s renting it, but whatever. He crouches on the ground, closes his eyes, and tries to suck in some air, but nothing works. Nothing releases the pressure in his head and lungs until his mind races back to Eddie, how he doesn’t deserve him, but selfishly indulges himself in thinking about him nonetheless.

He thinks about how Eddie must have comforted Stan after the fight, or Eddie probably would comfort Georgie if the young boy had gotten himself hurt. He imagines that Eddie’s in the room with him, hand on his back, saying all the right things. Saying that he forgives him, that everything’s okay, telling him just to calm down and  _ breathe. _

When his heart returns beating to something that vaguely resembles a normal pace, he feels like a piece of shit.

Because he is.

__________

Richie had driven to the circus with an iron-clad grip on his steering wheel, his jaw locked, his entire body rigid. He had driven with one purpose in mind: to see Eddie. Except this time was like no other time, because he did not intend to see Eddie ever again after this.

He just can’t.

He  _ can’t. _ Not when he hurts everyone around him, not when he hurts people who do absolutely nothing. Not when he depends on people who hurt people  _ like him _ . People like Richie.

Gay people.

There is a performance tonight that he was going to go to anyway, so he pays for his ticket and slips inside with the rest of the crowd walking in. The circus is still relatively new on this side of Derry, so there are plenty of people for Richie to blend in with. He listens to the gasps and shouts of the audience from tricks that are familiar to him by now, but he makes sure to appreciate every second of it; he notices the exact moment that Eddie sees him, because his act is revitalized with a new sense of vigor. Briefly, Richie wonders if the extra makeup Eddie is wearing tonight is for him, then shakes the thought out of his head- Eddie performed before Richie, and will perform after Richie. Though he says differently, it’s only a matter of time before Richie lets him down and Eddie starts to hate him. Might as well be now.

When Eddie sees him after the show, he’s beaming. “Did you see that! That was so good! There was a little girl in the front row- she was so enthralled- I had to peek from backstage just to watch her face-”

“Eddie.” Richie says calmly, a faint smile on his lips. “Can we take a walk?”

Eddie blinks, his chest rising and falling quickly because he’s out of breath from his word vomit. Then he swallows. “Of course. I need to get a sweater. It’s kind of cold.”

Richie shakes his head, his reaction immediate. “Just take my jacket.” He answers, already shrugging it off.

Eddie looks around before grabbing the jacket, not putting it on yet. They walk outside together with the other people filtering out, but whereas most people are going to their cars, the two boys go straight out and begin walking to the street. They step onto the sidewalk together, and, since they're far enough for other people not to see, Eddie pulls the jacket onto himself. Richie wonders if his legs are still cold in his shorts, and frowns realizing that they probably are, and he should’ve just let Eddie change.

“Are we going somewhere? Or just walking?” Eddie asks, hands crossed over his chest.

Richie stops walking. “I don’t think we should be friends.”

Eddie stops, too, and turns around to face Richie, who he had walked a little past. “What?” His eye’s flicker around Richie’s face, looking for him to break out in a smile and announce that he’s only kidding. Eddie grabs Richie’s arm and pulls him into the nearest alleyway to give them the semblance of privacy. “What are you talking about?”

“Eddie,” Richie sighs. “Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“No, what the fuck is this?” Eddie asks, scowling. His grip is still tight on his arm, and Richie is reminded of the night where he dragged him down this same street, to his car parked by a bar, and then drove him home. That night had been nice despite Richie’s drunkness. He and Eddie laughed while in the car, and Eddie had picked out his pajamas and chucked them in a ball at him before leaving. When Richie woke up that morning, there was a cup of water next to his bed and a note with a smiley face on it, written distinctly by Eddie.

“I- I don’t think-”

“Exactly! You don’t think! Ever! Why would you make a joke like that?”

Richie shakes his head. “I’m not joking.”

“Stop it.” Eddie hisses, and then pushes his hands against Richie’s shoulders. Richie stumbles back, but not enough to really affect him. “You’re not being funny!”

“I’m not trying to!” Richie counters. “I can’t keep hanging out with you. I think it would be better for the both of us, Eds.”

“But I- I  _ like  _ hanging out with you.”

“You shouldn’t. I am a bad person. And you’re-  _ Eddie, _ you’re good.”

“Stop saying that! Sure, you hang with bad people, but you aren’t like them!”

“I am  _ just  _ like them. I- I hurt people. I put people in hospitals.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but freezes. His mouth hangs open for a second, his jaw wavering slightly as if he can’t decide whether or not to say something. Then it closes. After a second, he says, “Stan didn’t go to the hospital.”

“I’m not talking about Stan.”

Eddie wraps his arms around himself, silent and looking at the wall next to Richie. Slowly, he talks again. “You have to stop hanging out with them.”

“You have to stop seeing the best in people when they’ve done nothing to deserve it.” Richie counters.

“You do deserve it.”

“I’m going to get you hurt.”

Eddie looks up at him. His eyes had been watery and sad, but it only takes a second for his look to turn determined. “Fine.” He says, voice steely.

“Fine?” Richie asks, confused.

“Fine! I’ll get hurt! You’re worth it.”

Richie’s eyes widen. “No!” He exclaims. “You idiot. No.”

Eddie is scowling deeply now, unlike the playful scowl he so normally sports when talking to Richie. “Don’t you want to be friends with me?”

Eddie thinking that Richie doesn’t like him is perhaps the worst thing could happen, because Eddie had quickly become the best thing in his life in the matter of two months. “Yes! Of course I do. But getting you hurt isn’t a risk I’m willing to take!” 

“Well, I am!” Eddie’s fists are by his side and they’re almost shaking, though Richie can’t fathom why someone would want to fight  _ for  _ him. It makes him yearn to apologize and call himself dumb and go buy Eddie a milkshake.

“I’m not giving you an option!”

“That isn’t your choice to make! You don’t get to just call off our friendship whenever! That’s not how this works!”

Richie doesn’t like fighting. This is quite possibly the third worst thing he’s done, after Adrian and Stan, and he wants it to be over. The quicker it’s over, the quicker Richie stops feeling like a hole is burning through his heart.“We’re not talking about this anymore!”

“Stop it!” Eddie yells desperately.

“You had friends before me, and you’ll have friends after me, it’s fine! You’ll be fine!”

“No, I won’t! Stop pretending- pretending that-” Eddie looks frantic.

“That  _ what?” _

“That I don’t matter to you!”   
  


“You do!” Richie shouts, his hands gesticulating in an explosion of motion, unable to convey how utterly wrong Eddie is. “You’re  _ everything! _ That’s why I’m doing this! To protect you!”

“I don’t need your protection!”

“I  _ need _ to protect you!”

Eddie looks like he wants to pull his own hair out. “Why? Why does this matter so much to you?!” 

“Because I’m in love with you!” The world goes to a screeching halt. Richie’s chest is heaving from the screaming match, and the both of them have gone completely frozen. Despite not being cold at all, Richie feels a shiver run through his body. His limbs feel like jelly and his stomach has a horrible sinking feeling that makes him feel like he might fall over. His mind feels incomprehensibly foggy.

And yet…

Everything feels clear. There it is- he’s said it. It’s done. He can’t take it back, and he doesn’t think he would if he could because it feels so  _ right  _ to say. Richie had first seen Eddie and had an inexplicable attraction to him, and then he hit him over the head with a bottle, and Richie had been more dazed from the boy than the weapon. He hadn’t even been mad. He complimented Eddie, looking at Eddie’s dumbstruck, open-mouthed face, Richie can’t find it in himself to feel a shred of regret. All he can think is  _ I love you I love you I love you I love you  _ and he doesn’t want to think anything else. In a moment or two, Eddie will come to his senses and leave, or maybe start to beat the shit out of him, and Richie is going to let him because there isn’t a thing in this world that could make him not love Eddie Kaspbrak.

“You… ” Eddie says breathlessly, unmoving. Like a deer in headlights.

“I love you.” Richie repeats, softly, this time, to let himself have it before Eddie’s shock wears off at his friend being a faggot and slams his head into the wall.

When Eddie lifts his hand, Richie flinches, and Eddie freezes. Richie marvels at how he didn’t hit him as his cold hand slowly comes to rest against his cheek.

“Eddie?” The name escapes from his lips.

“Richie.” Eddie is kissing them. It takes a moment to register, given that Richie was clenching his jaw, bracing himself for pain instead. He remains shocked for a few moments and then shifts into action, placing one hand on the nape of Eddie’s neck and the other on his hip, pulling him as close to him as possible, wanting to feel everything possible as he’s absorbed in the need to kiss him. He felt as though everything he needed was here, the warmth in Eddie’s lips overruling the chill starting to creep up on his skin and-

_ Chills- _ Richie remembers they are  _ outside, _ exposed and vulnerable. He slowly steps back, disconnecting from his lips as if it hurt. “We-we should really talk about this, Eds. Not here.”

Eddie smiled that smile of his, even and full. “Yeah,” He said, his cheeks flushed and his voice high. “We should.”


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've actually finished writing chapter 6 already! (and our newly added chapter 7 is for the epilogue, not the actual story!!)

“So…” Joyce says from behind Stan, holding a bottle of lemonade in each hand.

Stan is organizing one of his tables in his room again, but whirls around with a jump. “Jesus!” He shouts, about ten feet in the air. He looks at Joyce with crazy eyes.

“Aren’t you Jewish?”

“I- yes. Why don’t you warn a guy?”

“Sorry.” Joyce winces. “I’m being weird. This is so awkward.”

“Oh,” Stan frowns as it suddenly occurs to him why Joyce is here. She extends one lemonade out to Stan and he takes it but doesn’t unscrew it, instead placing it on his table and clasping his hands together. He waits for her to talk, but she just kind of… stares. Joyce and him had never really gotten along- she tended to hang around Mike and Kay more often, or Bill, but Stan never liked hanging around her and Bill together. However, she’s been hanging around a lot less since he and Bill had… Well. And that’s what Stan assumes Joyce is there for.

Truth be told, Stan isn’t entirely sure on how Joyce feels. He knows that she and Bill weren’t dating or anything, but he also knows that Bill isn’t the smartest guy around when it comes to feelings and that Joyce probably wanted them to be. Or maybe she didn’t, because Stan has no way of knowing. He only knew that when Bill had kissed him he was so glad it was _him_ and not _her._ It felt selfish- especially now, looking at Joyce’s slightly sad face. Stan’s good at reading people. She’s trying to hide it, but he can tell anyways.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I… assumed.” Stan says tensely.

“Um,” Joyce starts, wringing out her fingers and chewing on her bottom lip. He doesn’t see her look nervous, often. She’s one of the most stubborn girls he knows, because she has to be, when dealing with a circus overrun by boys. Dealing with the mainly male people who underestimate her when she’s just trying to get popcorn from a suitable supplier or some other important task required a certain set of skills that made Joyce an admirable person, though Stan had always been too jealous to admit it. He had understood why Bill was attracted to her. That’s why it hurt so badly. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not mad at you, or anything. I don’t want you to think that. I mean, I am upset,” She furrows her eyebrows. “And… confused. Very confused. Because I didn’t think Bill was gay-”

“He’s not.”

Joyce looks at him oddly. “Right.” She says. “But. Yeah. Stan, I really like you, and I really like Bill- I mean. As a friend. Now, I like him as a friend. Before, well- I mean, before doesn’t matter. I just still want to be okay with the both of you.”

Stan looks at the jittery girl trying her best and smiles, because she never would get this nervous about anything, even when she was so stressed about Stan being bed-ridden that she genuinely started losing hair. He knows that she actually _cares,_ and that matters. “It’s okay, Joyce. I’m not mad at you- and Bill? Why would he be mad at you? You’re fine. I promise.”

Joyce smiles. “Okay. Great.” She says softly, looking relieved. “And I’m sorry about everything.”

Stan shakes his head. “No… don’t apologize, please. You didn’t do anything wrong. Bill and I are the shitbags here, kind of.”

“I-”

“You are wonderful, Joyce. And you deserve someone who is going to love you unconditionally. And that’s… not Bill.”

“Yeah. Bill chose you.” Joyce answers, sounding a little forlorn.

“I’m sorry.” Stan says. “That was insensitive of me.”

Joyce shakes her head. “No. You’re absolutely right.” She sighs, unscrews her lemonade, and holds it out to him like she’s giving a cheer. “And Bill’s really good at sex. It wouldn’t be fair of me to keep him.”

Stan bursts out hysterically laughing.

__________

Parked on the side of the road is an ice cream truck shaking back and forth vigorously. An outsider may see this sight and wonder what is going on inside- perhaps, a fight? Or maybe something much more adult.

Either of these assumptions would be wrong, because inside of the ice cream truck is two boys, one laughing wickedly with a washable marker in his grip, and the other one screeching about ink poisoning and how he’s not going to let “neon blue marker” be his cause of death after an autopsy.

“You’re going to defile me!” Eddie cries out, clamoring away from Richie. Running from someone while both being in a cramped truck proves to be very hard, and it doesn’t take long for Richie to draw lines all up and down Eddie’s exposed arms, as well as even getting a few dashes across his face. 

“I plan on doing much more than just defiling you, Eddiekins!” Richie calls back with glee, finally being able to get Eddie into a corner. However, his victory is quickly squashed as Eddie finds his own marker and begins to retaliate. The two laugh and draw on each other's skin, though the fun of the game fizzles out rather quickly when you have freezers filled with ice cream and cabinets of illegal substances blocking every twist and turn Eddie tries to take to maneuver himself away from the marker. 

When Eddie has blue lines up and down his arms and on his collar bone, it finally clicks that he’s not going to be able to stop Richie, especially when he ended up pressed against the back of the driver’s seat and looking up Richie, who very, very slowly leaned in, who was just an inch away from Eddie’s face. Who then poked him on the nose with the marker and laughed triumphantly. “You’re such an asshole!” Eddie had cried, and didn’t mean it. 

Now, they’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor, the truck giving just enough room for it to be comfortable. They are drawing on each other’s skin in silence. Eddie listens to how Richie breathes, occasionally stealing glances at his face. He’s doodling small flowers on Richie’s right palm as Richie focuses on Eddie’s shoulder, drawing what feels like lines that have no specific patterns, since Eddie hasn’t checked what’s drawn there yet. However, he did assure Richie that he’d spit on him if he drew dicks.

It had actually been very awkward. For Eddie, at least. He almost said that he would break up with Richie if he did this, but caught himself- _breaking up_ is so presumptuous, since he can’t even say they’re dating, yet. They haven’t talked about it, though they said they would. They haven’t done much of anything, really, except for getting really close to each other and then nothing happening, or Richie making an innuendo because that’s just the type of person he is.

It’s hard, because Eddie can finally allow himself to love Richie, and he knows Richie loves him. When they kissed, Eddie felt… whole. Like he had everything perfect, because he _did._ He has so many people he loves and so many people who love him, and he’s got a job and a place to stay at night and a family and _he’s so happy,_ and _it’s almost perfect._ He just needs to figure out what Richie is. And then he needs to make sure Stan doesn’t hate him.

Stan. The thought of that makes him stop drawing, pausing the coloring of a flower petal that is resting on the heel of Richie’s palm under his thumb. He still doesn’t know how Stan is going to react to Richie, and he doesn’t want to bring it up, too scared that he’ll chase Richie away. Everything with him feels incredibly fragile. Like a sneeze could break it.

Eddie hates it.

He thinks- he _knows-_ it’s because it’s not real yet. They need to talk about it. And even then, it wouldn’t be real until Eddie could tell the other most important people in his life about it.

Eddie thought differently once, but that’s all changed. He thought that he’d choose Stan and the circus, but now he’s not sure. Choosing between the circus and Richie is an impossibility. He simply has to make it all work.

He loves everyone too much to let anyone go. He can’t do it. He won’t.

__________

Richie is playing the world’s best game of connect-the-dots right now, tracing the shapes of the freckles and beauty marks on Eddie’s shoulder. He can feel Eddie’s breath against his forearm as he scribbles endlessly on his palm, just lightly enough that one of his fingers would occasionally twitch because it tickled and Eddie would tell him to “shut up” out of force of habit, even though Richie didn’t make a noise.

Briefly, Richie wonders how Eddie would react if he pressed a kiss to his shoulder. The thought makes Richie smile to himself and his eyes dart to Eddie’s face, looking at it screwed in concentration. It’s kind of funny to watch such an intense face draw such innocent looking flowers, but Richie doesn’t want to make a comment, too nervous to break the almost-magic sort of aura in the safety of his ice cream truck. Eddie’s eyes flick to him and they meet, stunned for a second, before both quickly looking away and not saying anything of it.

Once again, Richie’s thoughts turn back to kissing Eddie. What if he kissed every freckle after he’s done connecting them? Or what if he went a little higher, to Eddie’s neck? How would he react? Would he like it? What sounds would he make?

“Stop pressing so hard.” Eddie says, lifting his head back up and snapping Richie out of his trance.

“Huh?” 

“You’re pressing so hard. It’s scratchy.”

“Sorry, Eds. Meant no harm, my little doll.” He coos. Eddie blushes, flustered, and turns back to his work.

They return back to the magical nugget of silence, even when Richie caps his pen and sets it down next to Eddie’s thigh. He reverts his attention to Eddie’s work, deciding to take his first good look at it now that he’s not so enamored with a fucking _shoulder;_ on his palm and fingers is bunches of tiny red flowers with six petals each, the petals filled in in an alternating pattern, leaving the other three petals and the pistil as just outlines. It makes him giddy, looking at the drawings. A bunch of tiny reminders that Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t hate him, that Eddie Kaspbrak loves him back.

Oh.

Richie won’t get ahead of himself, because Eddie actually didn’t say that. But he feels like he does, which he tries to tell himself is enough. He doesn’t want to force Eddie to say anything he doesn’t want. However, it was _Eddie_ who kissed _him,_ and he gets giddy again because of this. He doesn’t know what comes over him.

He leans forward and presses the softest kiss to the smooth skin of Eddie’s shoulder, who lets out the tiniest gasp in response. Richie relishes in it, and does it again. Richie hears the clear sound of a pen falling to the floor. Encouraged by this, he goes a little higher, closer to the junction by his neck, a little higher, a little higher. He pulls Eddie as close to him as possible by the hips and their knees knock together, keeping them in a bit of an awkward position but Richie can’t possibly care less.

“Richie,” Eddie says breathlessly as his hands go to rest on Richie’s shoulder, his grip tight.

“Mm?” Richie hums against his skin.

“Richie, uh-” Eddie says, his voice sounding a little more put together. “Richie, wait.” He finally says after clearing his throat.

Richie jerks back and pulls his hands off of Eddie like his skin is hot coals, even going as far as to scoot back an inch so their knees aren’t touching. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No! No, don’t-” Eddie starts, grabbing Richie’s arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise. I just want to… talk?”

“Talk?” Richie parrots, and then nods. “Yeah. I was thinking that, too. I was just thinking about… not talking, a little more.”

Eddie blushes again. “Shut up, Richie!” He hisses.

“Yes. Exactly.” Richie smirks.

“No! That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Eddie huffs. “Seriously, Richie.”

“Okay. Serious.”

Eddie nods once, opens his mouth to start talking, and then Richie promptly bursts into laughter. It takes him a few minutes to calm down, but when he does, he motions for Eddie to go. “As I was saying,” Eddie glares. “I wanted to talk. About. Um…”

“Go on…”

“Shut up. Us. I want to talk about us.” Eddie continues. Richie nods. “I want there to _be_ an us.”

“Aw, shucks, Eds.” Richie smiles. “I want there to be an us, too. But-”

“But?” Eddie asks. His face falls.

“But… Bowers. Stan. The whole damn world. We can’t even be a… a _real, normal_ couple.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows together. “Sure, we can. Just be secret about it. You’re still my boyfriend, even if nobody knows it.”

“Boyfriend! Oh, Eds, keep going!”

The smaller boy scrunches up his nose and sticks out his tongue, but his cheeks are red nonetheless. “Richie. You don’t have to stay with the gang. Really. Come live with me at the circus. Get away from those no-good shitbrains.”

“Moving in! We sure are moving fast.”

“I’m serious, Rich. As death. Stan will forgive you- they all will. They’ll love you! You’ll fit right in! Might be awkward at first-”

“Eds, even if I did, what if they don’t like people like us? I don’t-”

“Stan and Bill are dating.” Eddie says quickly. “Everyone’s fine with it.”

“Really? I thought Bill and that other girl…” Richie lets his voice trail off. “No. Eddie, no. Stan would throw me out and then they’d never let you see me again. I’m not risking it.”

“Richie, please-”

“I love you.” Richie says, because he can. “I love you. For right now, can that please be enough? I’m... _scared._ Of everything. Of losing you.”

Eddie’s expression softens and he scoots forward, putting one his hand on Richie’s cheek like their first kissing and planting his lips on his, holding for a few seconds before pulling back and resting their foreheads together. “I love you, too.” Eddie says softly.

They kiss on the floor of an ice cream truck, with the doors shut and locked tight.

__________

Eddie is glaring at Richie for the eight-thousandth time from the inside of the circus. Once again, Richie, _like a dumbass,_ just walked to the entrance. He doesn’t understand how lucky he is that nobody has anything to do by the doorway except Georgie, who somehow still believes that Richie is a “secret agent”.

_So_ lucky.

Richie looks back at him helplessly from the doorway, his arms suspended in a shrug. “Sorry,” he mouths, as though that would solve it all. He’d stuck his head in before walking in, at least making sure the coast was clear. And for some reason, he considered Georgie fine to be around, which Eddie disagreed with but wouldn’t argue about.

Eddie sees Georgie brighten up immediately, then go blank, as if he’d told himself to be cool (he probably did). He put his popcorn stuff down, looked around incredibly obviously, then jumping up to Richie. “Hi!” He says loudly, then quickly hushing his tone. “Did you catch the bad businessmen on their way to steal the Queen’s jewels yet?” He whispers behind his palm.

Eddie’s eyebrow raises inquisitively. Richie grins at him before lowering himself to whisper back. Because he’s slightly better at this whole “secret agents” thing, Eddie doesn’t hear him. 

Georgie beams up at him as he stands up. “Woah, Richi-”

Eddie jumps in, brushing a hand over Georgie’s mouth. “Shush! This is top-secret, you can’t go spewing this crap around!” He intervenes, throwing a light swear in there so he would know he was serious. He moves his hand away, and Georgie stands up straighter and salutes Richie before walking back to the popcorn stand, poorly concealing a smile.

Richie smirks at Eddie as they leave, already knowing he would blow up at him as soon as it was safe.

“What the hell, dude! You need to be more-” He sighs. “You need to _be_ careful in the first place. You can’t just shove your big ass head into the tent flaps and hope that Georgie and I are the only ones around, it’s too risky.” He says, his hands flailing around in frustration.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I promise to have some level of caution before shoving what is, in your words, _‘my big ass head’_ in things” Richie smiles his shit-eating grin before stepping ahead of Eddie and spinning around, holding his arms out. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Eddie sighs wearily. “Not exactly,” He looks up at him. “So, where are we going?”

Richie pulls his keys out of his pocket and spins them around his fingertips. “You up for another ride?”

__________

“Alright, and five cents is your change!” Eddie says, dropping a nickel into the palm of a boy outside while Richie handed him an ice cream cone.

Richie looks up at him, just a bit struck. “You’re really good at this.”

Eddie snorts. “Probably because I don’t look like I would use a fucking ice cream truck as a drug front.” He says, hopping on top of the freezer.

“You also are _super_ fucking cute when you interact with the kids.” Richie says, leaning against it.

Eddie rolls his eyes, ignoring the pink rising in his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, well. I’m used to it, I guess. Georgie’s like a little brother to me,” He kicks his feet against the freezer and leans back. “He’s the first person who loved me, I think. Real, unobligated love.”

“He’s a really cute kid,” Richie agrees. He waits a moment before asking, “So, d’ya wanna try to drive the truck?”

Eddie looks up at him with wide eyes. “What? No. I think you need a special license for these things. Actually, you probably need one to sell ice cream, too, so if I wreck this thing, you’re totally fucked. And that’s not even _mentioning_ the weed.”

Richie shakes his head. “Nah. You’re a better driver than I am, and I haven’t gotten hurt yet. It’ll be fine. It’s really fun; I’ll even let you push the speaker button that plays the music.”

Eddie bites his lip and tries, really tries, to not want to drive the truck. Richie tosses him the keys and hops into the passenger seat. “C’mere, I’ll show you what’s different between this and a normal truck.”

Eddie jumps off the freezer and hesitates. “What if I crash it? What if I hit a kid? What if I somehow manage to get the police to show up, and they find the drugs, and take you away?” 

“What, and you think you wouldn’t be taken, too?” Richie says with no hostility, just playful teasing.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. I was just thinking about you…” He says, voice trailing off as heat rises in his cheeks.

“Aw, gee, Eds, always thinking of me, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,”He mumbles, settling himself in the driver’s seat and immediately pulling the chair forwards because his legs weren’t as damn long as Richie’s. He buckled up before he even started the engine. “So?” He asks, gesturing towards the wheel in front of him. “What’s changed?”

“That,” Richie says, pointing to a purple button. “Plays the music.”

They’re both silent for a moment.“That’s _it?”_ Eddie asks incredulously, a bit annoyed.

“Oh, and the rights go hard, but other than that, yeah.”

Eddie could hit him (or kiss him). He scoffs. “Where am I even going? What the _fuck.”_ He says, freaking out, his hands clenching the slightly-too-large steering wheel.

Richie laughs. “Well, we’re selling to kids right now, so probably not to a bank. Or a strip club.”

Eddie did hit him this time.

“There’s a park a couple blocks away. I’ll tell you the way.” 

__________

“You are really good at this,” Richie repeats after their final sale, emphasizing the ‘really’. “Maybe we should split the business- you handle the ice cream, and I’ll take care of the weed.” He closes the window and shuts the door.

“Or,” Eddie suggests. “We entirely take out the weed aspect and actually 

earn money legally.” He offers, crossing his arms.

“Hm…” Richie said, tapping a finger on his chin as though he were actually considering it. “Nah.”

Eddie glares at him. “You’re insufferable,” He smiles as Richie leans in, pushing him against the freezer.

“And you adore it.” He says, bumping the side of his nose against his before making contact. 

And, _wow,_ did he ever. If sitting through Richie’s dumbassery all day long meant he got to do this at the end of the day, he’d deal with hundreds. Just to feel this incredible thing Richie was doing with his jaw, pushing it forward and pulling back. It left Eddie with absolutely no choice but to wrap his arms around his neck- he couldn’t have him _going_ anywhere.

He’d listen to thousands of his stupid sex jokes to experience the way his breath got pulled out of him as Richie moved past his jaw and down towards his neck. He was breathless, in a good way, for the first time. He didn’t think he could put it into words- the warmth, the little bit of wet that was slightly sticky with Rocket Pop sugar on his lips. It was nothing he’d ever known, and now all he knew was that as he jumped on top of the freezer was that he’d do anything for Richie Tozier.

__________

Richie walks through his front door, feeling just a bit lovesick over Eddie. His mood almost entirely disappeared in an instant, when he realized he was in his god forsaken apartment. He thinks for a moment about just how much he hated it here, it just feels like evil and wrongdoing. Any good action done here was immediately fouled.

It took him a moment to hear the knocking at the front door.

He runs his fingers through his hair, pretending that makes a difference. He isn’t sure what he expects when he opens the door, but it isn’t Connor.

“Oh. Connor, hello. This isn’t really a great time for me. I-” He says as Connor pushes past him into his apartment. 

“Where have you been?” Connor asks. Arms folded. Brows furrowed. Angry from context.

“Fucking your mom,” Richie says dumbly and immediately. “What do you mean?” He says after, as though he hadn’t made the first comment at all. Connor plays along.

“Henry asked about you the other day, and I realized that the last time I saw you, you were weird. Really fucking off. You said something about red markers and popsicles.” 

Richie threw his hands into the air. “Yeah, and? I was _high,_ dumbass. I can never control what flies out of my mouth sober, let alone whilst I’m smoking, dude. And since when do I owe you any sort of explanations? It’s not like I’m some fucking core member or anything. I sell you guys weed for a couple dollars cheaper than usual, and in return I don’t get my ass kicked. So who fucking cares what I do when I’m not around you?”

Connor leaned in, like everything he was saying was lost if they were two feet apart. “Henry cares, because he thinks you’re fucking around with the freaks.”

Richie shuts his mouth. For once in his goddamn life.

“Are you?” He presses.

“Am I _what,_ Connor? What do you need to know? Am I spending all my freetime with some fucking freaks? What do you think the answer is?” Richie blows up, his hands tossing through the air. He feels manic. His hair is everywhere, his lips are still puffy and he’s probably got hickeys on his chest, but all he feels is fear-powered rage. His feet unable to stay still, they tap the floor with every enunciation of his words. His hands flash through the air, unwilling to stay at his sides.

His eyes are the worst. They’re cloudy, and welling up with tears. He can’t exactly explain why, because he’s been in worse situations without doing so much as frowning. They’re frantic, darting from Connor’s eyes to his crossed arms to his chest to his face-

He can’t stop moving, he can’t stop going. He feels like a lit stick of dynamite, and he hasn’t even been fully confronted yet.

“Yes.” Connor says slowly, looking up to his eyes. “I think that you do spend all your free time with the circus. I don’t know exactly what you’re doing there, but you clearly are. The flier, Richie. One of them asked me for your fucking name, and that was after…”

“After _what?”_ Richie says quietly even if his tone was filled with anger. 

“After you called him attractive, Richie. You surely aren’t that fucking stupid, are you? He was clearly a man, and you ignored that. Then called him hot. To my face.” Connor was speaking fast now, and he didn’t know quite how to keep up with him.

“I don’t understand, he just looked like a girl.” Richie’s hands slowly fell, as if somebody had lit a candle and found out it was dynamite.

“Of course you don’t.” Connor says, laughing bitterly and pushing his tongue underneath his bottom lip. “You never did.”

Richie thought he saw his eyes get just a bit glossier. He stays quiet.

“Not for one second when I lied to my own damn family for you did you think about _why_. Not for a minute when I walk you home, or stay behind with you. You don’t understand because you don’t fucking see! You’re a blind asshole, Tozier! You’re oblivious to anything you don’t want to see, and you never want to see me!” Connor’s crying, now, and Richie’s halted. Connor fluctuates between aggressive and pitiful and Richie has not one clue as to how to handle that. “I did everything so I could get just fractions of your attention, and not once did you fucking care.”

“I didn’t know-“

“No shit you didn’t know! You don’t know anything! You don’t know what Henry says to me, after the gang has all left. You don’t know how much he terrifies me. You don’t know how much I risk by loving you.” His voice breaks on the last sentence, speaking more out of fear than anger now. His tears fall to the floor, untouched. His hands make fists and his sides, and his breathing is cracked.

“Connor, I…” He trails off, not knowing what to say. He honestly had expected him to cut him off.

Connor looks at him.

“You don’t love me.” Richie states.

“Yes,” He said shakily. “I do.”

“No, Con,” He shakes his head. “That’s not-that’s not love. Wanting to be seen is just… wanting to be acknowledged, or validated by anybody. That’s not love.” Richie finds his voice somewhere in all the emotion. “You were obsessed, Connor. You needed somebody that had something in common with you to latch onto. I can’t be that for you.”

“But you _can._ You can, and you choose not to. I don’t see why; we can work it out! Henry doesn’t have to know. Nobody does, and we can be happy. Just like before, it’ll be the same, we can smoke weed and you can even-“ Connor was frantic, speeding up as he went along. 

“Connor, _no.”_ Richie says, taking a firm grip on his arm. “Stop,” He says softly, as though it would fix everything. “Just stop, okay?”

“No! Why should I? I did everything for you. And you chose a _literal_ freak. How is he better? I’ve known you for longer, I’ve done everything for you! What more could you want?” His voice wavers as tears fall onto his cheeks.

“Con, I…”

Connor looks down at him. He jerks his arm from Richie’s grip and wipes his tears roughly. “You’ll regret this.” He says with a sense of finality, and leaves.

Richie has no clue how he’s supposed to feel right now.

__________

Eddie exhales slowly, watching the air puff up in front of him in a disappearing cloud. He hated being just outside of the tent, especially at night, ever since the Bowers gang. But recently, he’s hated being _inside_ the tent more. He feels like a liar and a traitor, speaking to Stan using the same lips that have kissed Richie, and told Richie he loves him. He doesn’t know that he could spend any time around Stan besides practice without feeling guilty, honestly.

Which just makes him feel _worse,_ like the only time that he isn’t stressed out about Richie is when he is actually there and-

_Oh. Speak of the devil._

He looks up as a weighted hand is placed on his shoulder, instinctively leaning into Richie’s hand. “Hey, ‘Chee.”

He sat down onto the curb next to him. “I know, I know,” He starts out in a joking yet defensive manner. “I should be in my apartment, wallowing, or hurting people with Bowers,” He looks at him sideways. “But, it’s nighttime, and there’s no performance. Maybe this is okay?” The corners of his mouth tugged upwards. Richie was always smiling around him.

Eddie looks at him, reassured. “Yeah. Everyone’s inside and busy. I think we’re good.”

Richie drops his hand to the curb. “Hey, I was thinking…” Eddie takes his pinkie in his. “I was considering… Um.”

“Spit it out, Richie.” Eddie says, squeezing his hand softly. 

“Leaving the gang. I just- they aren’t my scene, anymore. I don’t agree with what they do, they go too far.” 

Eddie’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Richie, really? That’s great! Oh, my Gosh, that’s… Does this mean you’ll consider coming with me? And the circus?” He’s taken Richie’s whole hand at this point, witnesses be damned.

“I dunno, Eds. I just don’t know that I could redeem myself to Stan.” Richie says dismissively. 

“Rich, the fact that you even _care_ about how Stan feels reaffirms my belief.” He says with hope in his moon-lit eyes. “I believe,” He says before Richie can ask (his mouth hanging open like a slack-jawed idiot) (a cute one). “That Stan, Bill- they’ll all get over it, with time. We can do this, Richie. They’ll learn why I love you. They’ll understand, eventually. If we love each other,” He stops, just to stare at the beauty in Richie’s eyes, the way faith brightened them ten times over. “It can’t be wrong.”

And Eddie’s found the ‘something’ inside of him, because it wasn’t quite inside of him all along. The ‘something’ was really the love he felt for Richie, the love that ran between their hands and eyes. It was pure, and full, and wholly rightful. He wishes he could spend forever in that moment, tuck it into his pocket. His own corner of infinity.

But Richie turns around. “Did you hear that?” He asks, not letting go.

Eddie rolls his eyes and nods. “Yeah. It’s probably just Ben and Mike being big, strong, masculine men. I’m gonna go check on them.” 

He stands up and leaves Richie behind, fully intending on returning.

__________

The shouting has grown significantly louder, Richie realizes suddenly. It makes his stomach twist, and he taps his foot anxiously. It could have been mistaken for a small spat earlier, something between friends that turned a bit too sour, but the shouting has got too loud. _I have no right to look,_ he tells himself. _If the circus people got in a fight, that’s none of his business. Don’t go poking your head in things that ain’t yours,_ Richie thinks.

And as the shouting continues, Richie is struck with one of the worst realizations of his life.

He can hear Eddie’s shouts piercing the air, though he’s not able to understand what he’s saying, but that’s not what’s so horrible- the terrible part is that Eddie’s voice is not the only voice that he recognizes.

He hears Bowers. And soon, he realizes he can occasionally hear the voices of Connor, Patrick, Vic, and Blech.

His blood is ice.

Slowly, he pulls back the flap of the back entrance to the circus and peeks his head in like he’s done only a few times before, but this time his stomach drops. In two definitive clumps are the Bowers Gang, and across from them is the Losers’ Circus. Now, with his head inside, he can hear what Bowers is shouting.

“..is he?!”

“We don’t know who you’re talking about.” A boy from the circus side says, though their backs are facing him so Richie can’t see who. He knows all their names from matching the acts to the fliers, but has only heard Eddie’s voice before. And Georgie’s, who luckily, must be somewhere else because he can’t see. And Stan’s, from when he was screaming. Richie shudders.

“We won’t hurt any of you if you tell us where that fucking fag is!” Henry sneers. Richie knows, bone-deep, innately, that Henry is talking about him, and he feels his knees buckle.

“Fuck off, Bowers!” Eddie cries, and Richie’s suspicions are immediately confirmed by the desperation in his voice. “You’re crazy! We don’t know where anyone in your stupid gang is!”

There’s an eerie silence. When Henry speaks next, his voice is lowered. “I wouldn’t be talking if I were you, Kaspbrak.” He says menacingly. “Insulting me and fucking lying to me all in one breath.”

“Eddie’s not l-lying.” A voice says. The stutter clues Richie that it’s Bill, since Eddie mentioned him having a nervous stutter once or twice. “W-we’re really serious, B-Bowers. We swear w-we d-don’t know. Really. Puh-p-please g-go.”

“No.” Henry continues in his low, fake calm. “No, because now I’m fucking mad that this little fairy has the fucking balls to lie straight to my face when I know exactly what he’s up to.”

Richie’s head feels foggy as he watches the scene, unmoving. If he gives himself up, maybe Bowers will leave everyone alone. Maybe he’ll just take Richie to the back like an old dog and kill him, nice and quick, and then it will be all over and Eddie will move on and then nobody- but Richie- gets hurt. Maybe that’s best. Except Richie can’t move, because he very suddenly has something to live for, and a future to look forward too, and he can’t bring himself to give it away. And maybe Eddie can pull this off. Maybe…

“Who takes it up the ass? You, or Tozier?” Patrick taunts. _“Please_ say it’s Tozier. That would be fucking hilarious. Come on. Really.”

“What’s he talking about, Eddie?” Says a girl’s voice.

“Shut up.” Eddie bites back. “Henry, are you and your goons on drugs? Are you actually insane? What makes you think I would sleep with one of the pigs in your rancid gang? Leave! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

“No, fairy, I don’t think I am!” Henry shouts back, his voice booming. Richie watches Eddie flinch, his heart hammering out of his chest. His mind is screaming for him to run in, to give himself up, but he’s frozen in fear. The need to protect Eddie is raging inside him, yet he’s choking on air. He can’t move. It’s all he wants to do, and he simply cannot. He watches everything unfold through a sliver of space. Helplessly. “I fucking know he’s here!”

“You’re insane!” Another voice yells.

And then Bowers takes a fast step forward and practically snarks; everyone on the opposing side collectively takes a flinching step back, except for Eddie. Except for that idiot. That fucking idiot.

The next sentence comes out almost as a laugh. “His car is in the parking lot.”

Richie feels himself wither away.

The next voice is Connor, who Richie finds he now has a roaring hatred for. He knows that the only reason this could be happening, that Henry could _know,_ would be that Connor had took that big, stupid mouth of his and sold Richie out because he was so weak and embarrased from his rejection that the only thing he could do was try to hurt Richie back, and hurt him worse. “Listen, we don’t care what stupid gay shit you do. Just tell us where Rich is and we’ll deal with _you_ later.”

“I don’t-”

“Fucking give it up already!” Connor shouts, and surges forwards towards Eddie. It only takes a second for everything to change- it only takes a second for Connor to grab Eddie’s arm, whirl him around, pull him against him to keep him in place, and press a knife to his neck. “Richie!” Connor shouts out into the tent. “Come out right now or-!”

“Fine!” Richie shouts, and it comes out of him like a strangled cry from a dying animal. Every head turns to him, and Connor’s paired with a determined anger. “Connor, Connor, Connor...” Richie is saying as he runs up to them, Eddie’s eyes trained on him like two saucers. It takes Richie a second or two to realize that Eddie’s shaking his head, but there’s not going back now. “Come on, man. Let’s not make any rash decisions, right? There are witnesses. You’re smarter than this. You’re not going to do anything. You’re going to let him go. Come on.” Richie lets his mouth run for him, not thinking, just saying whatever he can to make sure that that knife never sees the inside of Eddie’s throat.

“So, it’s really true?” Connor asks incredulously, though his voice sounds hurt in a way Richie assumes only he can hear. “You’ve been sneaking off with Kaspbrak to mash dicks this whole time?” He chuckles, like they’re playing a game with sticks and rubber toys. His laugh still sounds tense around the edges, though, reminding Richie that this is anything but a game. “I think I’ve changed my mind. I think we’re gonna kill both of you, now.” Richie hears Eddie let out a whimper, and another shock of adrenaline shoots through his body like lightning.

“Put the knife down, Connor. Please. There are witnesses.” Richie pleads with everything in him, hoping that if he sounds desperate enough, Connor will take pity on him and let Eddie go. 

“So we’ll take him outside, then.” Vic suggests casually.

“Or we’ll kill _all of them.”_

Someone behind Richie grunts, and someone whispers something, and then there’s not another peep.

“Put the knife down!” Richie cries out, now aware that there are tears spilling against his cheeks that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to. His voice sounds desperate and it cracks wetly when he says ‘down’.

“Why? Because you’re in love with him?” Connor laughs. Once again, it sends a shiver down Richie’s back with its double meaning. Connor wants to hear it, Richie sees. Connor’s going to make him say it because that’s the only way he can make it real. He presses the knife against Eddie’s neck harder, and Eddie reacts by gasping and struggling against Connor to no avail. Stan shouts an insult that Richie doesn’t pay attention to while what seems to be every voice of the circus cries out some variation of ‘Stop!’ or ‘Eddie!’.

“Yes!” Richie shouts. There’s a shocked sound from the peanut gallery and he wants to turn around and yell at them all to shut up, but now isn’t the time. “Yes, I’m in love with him. And I’ll fucking kill you if you hurt him, Connor. Don’t you fucking doubt that for a fucking second-”

“Richie-” Eddie says, voice rough.

“Shut up!” Connor shouts, and his arm jerks so the knife presses harder. Eddie screams out and there’s _blood._ For a moment, Richie thinks Connor’s killed him, and he’s ready to fucking rip Connor’s throat out his bare hands, but it quickly becomes apparent that he’s only knicked him. His heart rate decreases, if only minutely.

“How about a deal?” Richie asks. Eddie shakes his head vigorously, but Connor seems entranced by Richie’s offer to notice. “You can kill me. Or you can do whatever. I don’t care. I’ll let you do whatever you want, I’ll do whatever you want. Just let him go. Leave him be.”

“You idiot!” Eddie screams.

“Shut up!” Connor and Richie both answer at the same time.

Connor looks like he contemplates it. “I’m gonna rip you apart, Tozier.” He says. Richie has no doubt that he means this literally.

Suddenly, Connor tosses Eddie forwards. He half-runs half-stumbles into Richie’s arms, falling against him and looking at him with wild, tear filled eyes. “What are you doing? Richie, what-” And then Stan is pulling Eddie away from Richie, pulling him into the relative safety of the group, looking at Richie with the most angry, rage filled expression that he has ever seen. It’s almost in slow motion, really. Eddie is pulled out of his arms, and Richie realizes that that was the last time he would ever get to hold him, and Eddie had been sobbing and bleeding and almost inconsolable. He’s screaming at Stan now, to let him go, to stop Richie, but it falls upon deaf ears. Eddie struggles against their grips, but Stan and Bill hold him back, and there’s nothing Eddie can do except for writhe. Good. He’s safer that way.

Richie walks over to Connor.

Connor grabs him by the back of the neck and holds the knife against his back.

And without another word, they start walking towards the exit.

Richie can hear Eddie gasping and sobbing behind him.

Richie is walking to his death. He is actually going to die now.

But Eddie isn’t, so he’s okay with that.

He’s so caught up in his noble death that he doesn’t hear the pounding footsteps, and he doesn’t register why Belch would shout. He doesn’t realize anything is happening until the pressure of the tip of a knife against his back is pulled off and Connor slams into the ground with a sickening crunch accompanied by the snap of a bone. Richie stumbles back with his eyes wide to see that a large person is standing over Connor- a person easily identifiable as Mike- and he’s now guarding the unmoving figure to make sure it doesn’t attack again. Richie spins around to see that Bowers is charging towards him. He lifts his fists up, ready to fight, but he doesn’t get the chance to make an impact. A ball of fire shoots out of nowhere and pins Bowers to the ground- Richie knows this ball of fire is named Beverly Marsh, from Eddie’s descriptions, though he’s never actually seen her or her boyfriend, Ben, before because they’re behind the scenes. Beverly is shouting obscenities and straddling Bowers who looks too stunned to fight back as she claws at his face, dragging bright red lines across it with her nails. Vic, Belch, and Patrick, ever the sheep, stand there mindlessly because they’ve now lost their shepards. It doesn’t take long for Vic to dash and Belch to follow, but Patrick lingers, staring at Richie.

Richie takes a step forward, fully intending to beat the shit out of him, but Patrick dashes over to his leader.

“Stop it! Stop it, bitch!” He shouts at Beverly. “Henry, let’s go!”

Who Richie assumes to be Ben is over there and pulling Beverly off (“Call me that, again, I fucking dare you!”, she’s shouting) in an instant, and as soon as Henry Bowers stands up, Patrick makes his way over to Connor who undoubtedly has a broken shoulder from how Mike had landed on him when he jumped him. Patrick heaves up Connor without help from Henry, who’s already left running with blood streaming from his face, and practically drags him out of the tent.

The Losers’ Circus and Richie remain.

He collapses to his knees.

“Richie!” Eddie shouts, and soon after, Richie sees him kneel in front of him and wrap his arm around him. “Oh my god, oh my god.” He’s repeating, like a mantra. Richie can feel how hard Eddie’s breathing as he wraps his arms around him in return, strings of words falling from his lips that he’s too tired to figure out the meaning of, just knowing that they must be something comforting because Eddie hugs him tighter. “I love you.” Eddie says quietly, over and over.

“I love you, too.” Richie replies, because that’s the easiest thing in the world for him to say to Eddie Kaspbrak.

“You’re so dumb.”

Richie laughs.

  
  
  


Richie and Eddie are so caught up in each other, enveloping each other in a tight embrace and reminding each other that they’re alive, that neither of them consider the other nine people in the tent, though Georgie was given strict orders to stay in his room _no matter what_ from Stan as soon as he saw the Bower’s gang. The other eight- Stan, Bill, Mike, Joyce, Elliot, Kay, Beverly, and Ben- are all in varying levels of shock.

They all coupled off, originally- Joyce had latched herself onto Mike’s arm as he rubbed soothing circles on her back with the other one, Beverly had been sobbing against Ben’s chest, Stan had been standing silent with his arms crossed over his chest while Bill looked at him with abundant concern, and Elliot had been holding Kay’s hands in his and pressing his lips against them- but all slowly clumped back together in a circle after a minute or two.

“Who is he?” Elliot is asking the group.

“Richie Tozier.” Stan said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.

Elliot frowns. “Well, yeah, I got that. But _who is he?”_

“Part of Bower’s gang.”

“Not anymore.” Beverly says, peering over at the two that are still in the same position, yet their mouths are moving, so they must be saying something that she can’t hear. “Did anyone know?” She asks.

“Not a clue.” Bill answers. Everyone else responds saying the same thing.

“That explains why he was acting so spotty.” Joyce says, pressing her lips together.

“We need to make him leave. Now. He’s not safe.” Stan points out.

Bill looks at him, gaping. “Eddie?” He whispers.

“No!” Stan responds. “Richie. He’s the one that knifed me, Bill.”

“Eddie wouldn’t…” Kay’s voice trails off.

“Richie stays.” Mike says sternly, and every pair of eyes go to him.

“You don’t just get to decide that.” Ben answers. “We should talk about it, at least.”

“Richie _goes.”_ Stan insists. “He’s not safe. I don’t feel safe around him. Guys-” Bill puts a hand on Stan’s back and he immediately goes silent, his voice tapering off into a shuddering gasp and he runs his hand over where his wound was from the knife before it healed.

“Stan, Richie just-”

“Eddie’s lied to us!” Stan bursts out. “He’s been lying to us and going behind our backs with some knife-wielding lunatic and he could’ve just gotten us all killed, for all I know!” He crosses his arms back over his chest and squares his jaw, looking at the ground. “He’s my best friend, he’s supposed to tell me everything. He didn’t even telling me- I didn’t even know that-”

“Stan.” Bill whispers quietly, and Stan folds into Bill’s arm, allowing himself to be engulfed in a hug.

A soft voice pierces the bubble around them. “Richie can’t go back home alone. They know where he lives.” Eddie says, sounding fragile. The gang member is standing, now, but is still a few feet back and holding himself, staring at the ground. “Please.” Eddie adds.

“Eddie…” Beverly says gingerly, taking a step forward. “Maybe it isn’t the best idea-”

“I’m not letting him go home alone, so if you make him go, I go, too.” Eddie says with a strict finality that hangs in the air with a malevolent tone, like a silks performer on an improper setting, bound to drop any second. Anyone knows that Eddie would be virtually no help if the gang showed up to the apartment. They also know that Eddie isn’t bluffing.

“We’ll talk about this all later, okay? I promise. I just… need sleep.” He raises his fingertips to the knick on his throat, a small angry line that has stopped bleeding. “And a band-aid.”


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! next chapter is an epilogue, not a final chapter! this is it, ya'll! :')

Richie wakes up next to Eddie for the first time of many.

It’s nice, too- much nicer than Richie thought waking up could ever be. Instead of dreading his alarm clock and the bullcrap that entails, he gets to slow down. He can focus on the important stuff. Like Eddie.

His boyfriend is still asleep, which gives Richie the opportunity to appreciate just how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. He felt kind of creepy, but when his eyes catch on the brown bandaid on his neck, he feels thankful that Eddie is even  _ here _ for him to look at.

He doesn’t stay asleep for much longer after Richie. “What are you doing awake?” He says, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You never get up this early.”

Richie tries to shrug, but his efforts are partially ruined by the pillow underneath him. “It’s easier to wake up with a reason right in front of me.”

Eddie’s cheeks are already flushed with sleep (something Richie doesn’t even  _ know _ could happen, but already loves), but his comment doesn’t help. “Shut up, ‘Chee,” He yawns to hide a smile. 

Richie digs his nose behind Eddie’s jawline, his hands scooting him in at the waist. “I love you.” He says into his neck, and Eddie’s skin tickles with pleasure.

“I love you, too,” Eddie could feel his lips pull into a smile. “But I’ve gotta get up. Check on the others, get dressed.”

“No,” Richie exaggerates the ‘o’, his whine muffled by pillows. “I don’t want to let you go again.” He says, sounding quite like a child. Eddie’s heart softens just a bit regardless.

“I have to, Rich. I literally have no other options.”

Richie pulls his head out and props himself up on his elbow. “You could run away with me, Eds. We could join a traveling circus and live a life of adventure and freedom.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves his arm off. “Ha, ha, very funny, dickwad,” He stands up and walks over to his dresser. He pulls out his clothes for the day, and tosses a fresh shirt to Richie. It was always a size too big for him, so he figured it would fit. “You can rewear your jeans, but I don’t even want to  _ think _ about how awful you’d smell if you wore the same shirt twice.”

“Jokes on you, Eds, yesterday was the fourth day I’d worn that shirt.” Richie challenges, leaning to Eddie’s nightstand for his glasses.

“You’re kidding, right?” Eddie says, resisting the urge to gag. He throws his old shirt into a laundry basket across the room.

Richie thinks for a moment. “Probably. I think.”

“You’re disgusting, Tozier.” Eddie says as he changes into a new pair of jeans.

“Just the way Mrs. Kaspbrak likes it.” He winks, and Eddie rolls his eyes as he walks out.

  
  
  


Richie puts on his glasses and looks at the shirt in front of him. It was a pale yellow shirt made of cotton, with the circus’ logo printed on the front. Richie hadn’t seen those for sale at any performances, so he figured that it was either a staff-only thing, or that they had been on sale long before Richie had even heard of them. He stands up and stretches for a moment before Eddie walks back in.

“Are you ready? Let’s go.” Eddie says with a smile, grabbing his wallet and shoving it in his pocket.

“Go? Go where?” Richie asks, standing still as Eddie runs around the room and recaps everything he needs.

Eddie shakes his head. “Out. Somewhere, outside, c’mon, you’re coming with.” He says as he puts the last item in his pocket and turns to look at Richie expectantly.

“I don’t know, Eds, I don’t want to impose or anything, especially after such a rough night.”

Eddie steps forwards and takes his hands. “Hey,” He says, holding them in front of him. Softly, as though he was something fragile and rare he didn’t want to scare off. “It’ll be okay. Just be yourself, and you’ll erase any tension in the room immediately. It’s what you’re best at, right?”

“That, and-”

Eddie cuts him off, pulling him out of the room by his hand.

  
  


___________

Richie walks with Eddie at the back of the chattering group, their shoulders touching but no words passing between them. He thinks if he were friends with everyone, it would be nice to go out with them all to a diner. A sense of guilt hits him, telling him that he’s holding Eddie back from his friends. Nonetheless, he keeps up with the ground, quietly insisting to Eddie that he can go talk to everyone else and that he doesn’t need to be babysat.

“I want to be with you.” Eddie smiles. “And, plus, I think they’re all mad at me, anyway.” He adds. Richie winces.

When he pushes aside the flaps of the tent and walks out, his mood is lifted just a bit from being outside instead of crammed in the tent, even though he doesn’t really mind. The fresh air is good for him, and he feels a small sliver hope until-

“Oh.” The word dumbly falls from his lip as his eyes fall on the disaster. The rest of the circus avert their eyes and ignore it, but Richie and Eddie stop cold as Richie’s eyes flicker over the damage, a heavy weight in his gut that pulls him down.

His car is trashed. The car that Eddie drove him home in, the car they sang to music very loudly and very poorly in, the car that had a bottle hand sanitizer in one of the cup holders because Eddie insisted Richie take it, is fucked up beyond repair. The front windshield is completely shattered, leaving a dusting of glass on the front two seats. Richie can’t see, but the back is probably shattered, too, since they didn’t spare the windows on the sides either. There are dents in the car that look like they’re from bats even though Richie doesn’t recall the gang bringing said weapons in the tent, but that isn’t the worst of it.

In red spray paint, right on the hood of the car, in large, messy handwriting is:

_ “FAG.” _

Richie stares at the car for a minute.

And then he and Eddie catch up with the rest of them without another word.

  
  


___________

They enter the diner as a colossal group, causing anyone in there to look at the monstrosity that is ten young adults and a nine year old. When they sit down, they have to push three separate tables together in order to accomodate for everyone. Richie, naturally, places himself silently at the very end and Eddie fills the seat next to him. There’s an empty seat across from him, making him feel lonely despite being surrounded by people.

Instead of trying to intervene, Richie observes. Everyone is having a good time ignoring him as sugar packets are tossed and forks are dropped and jokes are exchanged.

“I was just trying to walk down the street, right, and I see this girl.” Ben is saying to whoever is listening.

“I don’t like this story.” Bev says.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I liked her shirt and wanted to know where she got it from- for Beverly, Kay, stop laughing- and go up to her to ask. And then she told me she’s married and walked away.” 

Bill shrugs. “She’s loyal, at least.”

“I didn’t even look at her face! I don’t care about her marital status!”

“You’re hot. It makes everything you do flirty, so everyone assumes you’re hitting on them.” Stan points out, and then he winces and rubs his leg, so Richie assumes Bill kicked him under the table.

“I don’t like it.” Ben says.

“I do.” Beverly points out, and kisses him on the cheek. Richie looks down at his plate, wishing that he could order some food already because he hasn’t eaten in a while and it would give him something to do with his hands other than rest in his lap like two dead fish. When the waitress finally comes over, she is an old lady with gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a yellow shirt with a blue apron like every other waitress running around. She goes around the table and everyone tells her order, except for Georgie, who tried to order three pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles. Bill amended it to one pancake with chocolate chips. When she finally gets around to Richie, he freezes.

“I didn’t bring money.” He says.

Eddie looks at him funky. “That’s fine. Part of Joyce’s job is to have money set aside for this stuff.”

“But, I’m not a part of… this.”

“You’ve given us half your money in ticket sales. Order yourself food.” Eddie looks to Joyce, who is seated across from him, talking to Mike. “It’s fine, right?” He asks.

“What’s fine?” Joyce says, pulling away from her conversation.

“Richie can order food?”

She blinks. “...Yeah.” Joyce returns back to her conversation as Eddie turns back to Richie, a small smile on his face.

“See? I told you. Get whatever.”

Richie ends up ordering scrambled eggs with toast and bacon, and then the waitress smiles and leaves them all be, no doubt happy to leave the loud kids behind. Richie fiddles with his fork, not saying much to anybody since Eddie is talking to everyone else. At one point, Joyce challenges him to an arm wrestle and calls him a string bean, but Eddie easily wins. He has a slender build, but years of gymnastics then silks had made him stronger than he looks. Richie lets himself think about how attractive Eddie is for a minute, because that’s familiar territory for him, unlike the rest of this situation.

Richie thinks his staying quiet tactic is working because he hasn’t started any fights and nobody’s told him to leave yet, so he’s considering this all a win. His plan is that, if he remains as small as possible, maybe everyone will tolerate him and they won’t force him to break up with Eddie and then eventually get murdered by Bowers. However, of course, nothing ever works out for him, because the tiny nine-year-old seated in between Bill and Stan wriggles out from his chair, under Bill’s arms, and all the way to the other side of the table where Richie is sitting.

“Richie!” Georgie calls, much to the surprise of Stan and Bill and  _ everybody,  _ all exchanging odd glances. “Richie, hey!” He calls again as he makes his way over. In his hand is a coloring mat that the waitress must have given to him and in the other is three crayons. He presents them both proudly to Richie, smiling. “Wanna color with me?”

Richie opens his mouth to respond, a small upturn to his lips; at least Georgie doesn’t hate him. Before he says anything, he’s cut off.

“Georgie. Come back to your seat.” Bill says, reaching his hand out.

Georgie frowns, looking at his brother, then to Richie, then back at his brother again. “But-”

“Or I’ll tell the waitress to only get you plain pancakes with no chocolate chips.”

Georgie frowns and turns to Richie. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright.” Richie laughs at Georgie. “Go back to Bill.” The little boy nods and hurries back to his seat, getting back up into his chair. Richie can’t hear them since they’re on the other side of the table, but Bill is saying something very sternly to Georgie. Richie can guess what.

He hopes that that’s all the awkwardness over, and when the food comes, it’s almost a relief. It means they’re almost done. It also means that Richie has something to do with his hands, so he focuses on eating his food. It tastes good. He feels like he’s a mooch. Eddie had gotten a burger, insisting that it’s brunch, so he also gave some of his fries on the side to Richie to share.

With everyone being a little more quiet because of the food in front of them, Richie feels a little less out of place. When Bill calls out to the table, “Does anyone want my pickle?” Richie almost makes a dick joke, and then remembers where he is, and decides against it. He leans over to whisper it to Eddie- Eddie shoves an elbow into his ribs because ‘I already know what you’re going to say, asshole!’

“Seriously, I don’t want it!” Bill calls out again. “Eddie! Here you go. Take the pickle.”

“Eddie doesn’t like pickles.” Stan says, and, horribly enough, Richie says the exact same thing with him in perfect synchronization. Stan stares at Richie like he’s decided to take a wazz on all their food, before taking the pickle from Bill’s hand and aggressively avoiding eye contact. There’s an odd hush over the table, and Richie feels too many pairs of eyes on him at once, the intense need of saying something to break the silence growing more powerful inside him by the second.

“We got burgers together. There were pickles on his burger and he threw them at me.” Richie explains to the faces looking at him.

They stay silent until Beverly clears her throat and offers, “Sounds like Eddie!” And everyone simultaneously bursts back into motion.

___________

Everybody seemed satisfied with their meal, tipping the waitress and walking back to the circus much slower than they did on the way there. Richie decides he did alright- he didn’t cause any more knife fights, and they didn’t get banned from the restaurant or anything. The worst thing that had happened was the accident with Stan. Eddie had convinced him to think of it as an accident. People get over accidents, and they aren’t intentional. So, yeah, Richie had basically “forgiven” himself, he just felt it best if he laid low for the rest of the night.

He was in the midst of slipping off to Eddie’s room (not that he knew what the hell he was going to do in there for the rest of the night) when Bev had given him a strange look. “Where’re you going, Richie?”

“Oh,” Richie says, pointing behind himself. “I was just gonna…” 

She shakes her head and waves him over there. “No, come on! You’re allowed to be...  _ around us,  _ you know that, right?”

“Right, yeah, of course I did.” He rambles acceptance as he seats himself next to Eddie, who put a hand on his knee encouragingly. Richie responded with a weak smile.

The rest of the circus continued their friendly yet heated debate (he thought he heard something about mimes belonging in the circus? He wasn’t sure, but Stan seemed against it) while Eddie leans on Richie. He looks up at him with enough light in his eyes to fuel a whole show. “Hey. How are you holding up?” He asks, and Richie couldn’t love him more. In the gang, nobody asked him what he wanted to do, or if he was okay. Eddie  _ cared, _ and more than he’d known from anybody else.

His smile comes back much stronger. “I’m okay.”

His grin is reflected in Eddie’s face. “Good, I’m glad!” Richie noticed a piece of fuzz in his hair and went to pick it out. “Hey, what’re you-“

“There was a fuzz in your hair, asshat.” Richie says, pulling it out and blowing into Eddie’s face.

Eddie swipes his hands all over his face- _ (“Fuck you, dude!”) _ and suppresses a giggle. One that was almost immediately drawn out anyways by Richie’s bark of a laugh. He felt like their laughter built up around them, blocking everyone else out.

Which, of course, wasn’t true. Eddie looked away suddenly to see the circus members staring at them with a variety of expressions, spanning from blank to confusion. It was almost as though there was a giant cartoon speech bubble above all their heads, reading a line that was something along the lines of  _ Maybe he’s okay to Eddie. _

  
  


Nobody moved. Richie blinked and looked at Eddie from the corner of his eye as if he could telepathically say  _ “Hey, Eds, what the fuck is happening, why are they staring? Why do they do that so much?” _ Then it was as if somebody had pressed a ‘play’ button, and everyone had resumed bickering and laughing.

Georgie suddenly hopped out of Stan’s lap, the sudden focus change apparently reminding him of Richie’s presence. “Richie!” He called as he ran over to him. “Sorry I couldn’t color with you earlier, Billy said I had to sit back down if I wanted chocolate chips. They were really yummy- did you get them too?” He rambles on until he sits down next to him, the words clearly meant to fill time rather than strike a conversation. Eddie thought that maybe Richie and Georgie were similar in that way, and that only made Eddie’s fondness for the boys grow. “Hi.” He huffs when he is finally seated with him.

“Hi.” Richie says back.

“So, why are you hanging out with us in the tent today instead of being secret, like usual?” 

Bill’s eyebrows raise. Stan’s do the opposite, furrowing down instead. 

Richie feels his back stiffen. “What-what do you mean?” He blinks at Georgie, hoping he would shut up. Maybe convince himself that he couldn’t talk about such secrets in front of everyone else.

“The secret mission! The one that was postponed because it turned out the businessmen were actually aliens in disguise? Shouldn’t you be saving the Queen’s jewels?” Georgie asks with a face that was more confusion than excitement.

“Oh, no, I…” Richie stammers, tripping over an excuse (or lack thereof). He looks to Eddie for help, but he seems just as clueless.

“Georgie.” Elliot says semi-sternly, calling him over. “G-” Kay, who was sitting on his lap, gave him a stern look, “Come here, please.”

Georgie frowns at Richie as he backs away.

  
  


___________

“Eddie. I need to speak wuh-with you.” Bill says later that night, sticking his head into Eddie’s room to see him and Richie sitting cross-legged on the bed, thankfully doing nothing particularly scandalous.

“Okay. I’ll be in your room in five?”

Bill stands in the doorway a moment longer, as though he was expecting something else. He nods and leaves.

“What was that? Are you okay- is it about me?” Richie asks immediately, holding onto Eddie’s hands tensely. He holds concern in his over-magnified eyes, frantically looking all over his face for signs of a lie. Not that Eddie would lie to him- he’d just been accustomed to the Bowers gang feeding him constant shit.

“No, babe, don’t worry. It’s probably just something about the silks. Maybe we’re starting a new set soon. Don’t worry about it.” Eddie reassures.

Richie smiles widely. “Eddie!”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “What? What did I do?”

“You called me  _ babe!” _ Richie says, poking him in the stomach on the last word. “My Eddie Spaghetti called me  _ babe!”  _ He says relentlessly, starting to tickle him.

Eddie always shrunk when Richie tickled him. He also flushed bright red, and his knees locked in place. The blushing was the main reason Richie would do it, it’s damn adorable, but it never hurt if his legs happened to be around him. “Stop- Richie! That’s not even the first time I’ve-” He collapses into giggles. “I’ve gotta go talk to Bill- come on, Rich, beep beep!”

He finally let up and let him leave. Which he didn’t- not without pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Richie didn’t really like being in the tent for one reason. It’s not like the tent itself was awful, but he felt trapped. He knew he was free to leave (regardless of the question that raises- where could he go?), in fact, he was a bit more welcome to leave than to stay. But when he stayed, he either sat in Eddie’s room, or followed him around constantly. Richie sometimes felt like a child lost in a supermarket.

He fell back on Eddie’s bed restlessly, already bored without him. He wished he had a crossword, or something.  _ Can you even get newspapers delivered to traveling circuses? How do they stay, like, in the loop? _ Richie wonders while standing up, mindlessly walking out.

Richie wanders down the hall, letting his curiosity best him when he hears his name yelled. Richie was pretty sure they weren’t beckoning him.

Eddie walks into Bill’s room, greeted by the tall man pacing. “Eddie.” He says, his head jerking up as soon as he spots him. Eddie steps into his room. 

“Hey, Bill.” He says, holding his hands in his sweater pocket. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?  _ What’s up?” _ Bill snaps. “What’s uh- _ up _ is that Georgie knows Richie! At the diner, I thuh-thought it was just him being his hyper, friendly self. And then he starts talking about secret agents? A-a-and a-a-a-”

“Aliens.” Eddie finishes for him. He walks towards him, placing his hands on Bill’s crossed arms. “Calm down. Your stutter is always worse when you’re upset. Breathe with me.” He counts to five to inhale, three to hold, and eight to exhale. Like he always has- it helps him with his stutter, and Eddie with his asthma. “Better?”

Bill nods curtly. “Thanks. Don’t change the subject. Where the hell did he get those stories from? Has he spoken to Richie himself?” He says, his tone raising on his name. “I fucking trusted you with juh-Georgie, Eddie, I can’t believe you put him a-around R-R-R-“ He waves toward Eddie’s room, clearly giving up on his name.

Eddie couldn’t see a clear way out.  _ I could take the blame, _ his first thought was,  _ but then that means I’d be telling Georgie stories of Richie. _ He inhales. “It was-”

Richie walks into the room out of nowhere, both relieving and worrying Eddie tenfold. “Me. When I came to see Eddie, I told him I was a secret agent. So he wouldn’t… tell anybody. Sorry for barging in, I just needed to tell the truth to you myself.” Eddie looks at him with concern, grabbing his arm.

“Oh.” Says Bill, raising his chin. Something flickers across his eyes, and Eddie saw his expression falter, just a bit.

Richie didn’t know what he expected Bill to say, or even do. He had barged into a conversation that wasn’t his to begin with, and confirmed his worst fear. But he had expected more than  _ that. _

“Th-thank you. For telling the truth.” He said as Eddie and Richie had already turned to walk out. 

“Of course.”

  
  


___________

When Eddie wakes up, his back is pressed up against Richie’s chest, and he’s so caught up in the feeling of it that he doesn’t notice why he’s awoken until Stan, looming over him, comes into focus.

“Come on.” Stan whispers, hitting Eddie’s arm again to egg him on. “Get up.” 

Eddie usually wakes up earlier than rehearsals, so he’s on time for practice. It’s been a while since he’s needed to be woken up by Stan. Perhaps he’s overslept, which makes sense, given the past few days have been stressful, but when his eyes fall on the clock, it tells him that it’s closer to seven o’ clock than nine. “What? Is something wrong?” Eddie asks, his voice grumbly from sleep. His mouth is dry like he slept with it open.

“No. It’s time for practice.”

“It’s two hours too early.” Eddie counters quietly, so as not to wake Richie. Stan’s volume isn’t exactly a whisper, but he isn’t shouting, which Eddie appreciates.

“Yeah, well,” Stan huffs. “Come on.” 

With that, Stan leaves Eddie’s room to go to the stage and presumably let down both of the fabrics and the lyra so they can practice their set. Eddie’s not used to waking up early except for when they need to re-choreograph and rehearse an entirely new routine to a new song, which would need a few extra hours. They haven’t planned on changing anything, so Eddie just pulls himself out of bed and gets dressed. He’s about to leave when he spins around, suddenly remembering the handsome boy in his bed. He grins to himself. _His_ handsome boy. Eddie walks on over to Richie and kisses him on the forehead.

“Eds?” Richie slurs, eyes still closed. “ ‘Sup?”

“Go back to bed.” Eddie responds. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Richie hums. “M‘kay. G’night.”

Eddie smiles and grabs his wrap before walking out to go join Stan, a smile still dancing on his lips as he takes the bandages and pulls it over his palm, wrist, and arm. If he was going to be dragged out of bed to train for two extra hours, he wanted to take the time to give more attention to lyra. Stan seems to have the same thought process because he’s sitting just by the silks with his legs open in a split, reaching for his toes in a stretch.

Eddie walks up to him and sits down to mirror him. “Why did you wake me up early?” He asks, but receives no response, like he were talking to the bleachers that Elliot and Beverly are on now, chatting. “Stan? It’s not even a new set or anything?” Once again, Eddie is given the silent treatment. He moves to stretch his other leg in tandem with Stan. He scoffs. “I don’t know why I asked. I know why- it’s because you hate Richie. And you hate me being with him even more.”

Beverly laughs at something at the same time Stan looks up at Eddie for the first time, as if he only notices that Eddie has gotten there. “Yeah. I do.”

Eddie’s eyes widen in offense. “You’ve been horrible to him!”

“Yeah. I have.”

“Well, stop it! It’s immature.”

“No.” Stan says simply, then stands up as if to end the conversation. He grabs the silks to start climbing, but Eddie’s grabbing his wrist in an instant and tearing him off.

“Talk to me!” Eddie begs. He’s so tired of Stan deciding to shut down whenever he’s mad at Eddie and waiting for the last moment to say how he feels- that’s always Stan, really. Even after Bowers had left, Stan’s arms remained crossed over his chest and he didn’t let anyone attempt to comfort him until he broke down crying on Bill. Stan has an affinity for holding things in, no matter what it is.    
  
“I don’t want to, Eddie! He’s a bad guy. You already know that’s how I feel- I don’t need to keep repeating myself.” Stan dismisses.

Eddie shakes his head, ready to defend his boyfriend. “Richie has done  _ more  _ than prove himself.”

Stan scoffs and then makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh, has he, Eddie? He hasn’t even said a fucking word to me, let alone an apology.”

“Because he thinks that you hate him!”

“Well, he thought right, didn’t he?”

Stan hating Richie settles uncomfortably in Eddie’s stomach. They’re the two most important people in his life, and this has always been the problem, since the very start of his friendship with Richie. “You’re being heartless.” Eddie hisses, his eyes conveying a flame that only he could manifest, trying his best to burn through Stan’s thick skull. He wants nothing more than for Stan to just try to see his perspective, like how Eddie tries to see his. “Connor would have killed me. And he definitely would have killed Richie. I know that.  _ You  _ know that!”

“Eddie-”

“Richie was going to die, if Mike hadn’t saved him. That has to count for something, right? Or do you just hate me so much now that it doesn’t even matter to you?”

Stan freezes, staring at Eddie with cloudy eyes. “Don’t be like that, Eddie.” He says quietly. “You know that my dislike for him has got nothing to do with you.”

Eddie balls up his hands, sure that his fingernails would cut crescents into his palms if they weren’t covered by the wrap that was supposed to be protecting him from the traction from his hands against the bar. “I thought that if we love each other, it can’t be wrong! No matter what anybody says? That’s what  _ you _ said, right?”

Stan, for the first time, looks like he understands. It lasts for a moment, and then washes away.

___________

When Richie first wakes up, his fingers grab at nothing and a sense of panic shoots through him, telling him that Eddie’s left him, that he’s gone, that he’s not coming back. Then he remembers that he had actually woken up a few minutes ago from a kiss on the head from Eddie, so he’s probably just in the tent somewhere. Richie sits up and curls his back. It pops like fireworks, not used to the shoddy mattresses that the circus is forced to use so they can pack up and go whenever they need to. Richie hauls ass out of bed, flattens his hair with his hand, and then walks out to find Eddie. It doesn’t occur to him that he may see other people until he has to walk past Mike and try his best to remain as quiet as possible to avoid him. When he does get out to where he assumes Eddie would practice, he’s relieved to find his boyfriend there. He’s not relieved to see Stan.

“I thought that if we love each other, it can’t be wrong!” Eddie is shouting at the other boy, hands at his side, crunched up into non-threatening fists. “No matter what anybody says? That’s what  _ you _ said, right?”

Richie is about to just turn around and go back to sleep, but Stan’s eyes fall on him and Richie watches the boy go from agitated to completely hate-filled in less than a second. Eddie turns to follow Stan’s gaze, and it lands on Richie. In direct contrast to Stan, Eddie’s face lights up.

“Richie!” He says with a smile. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah. Sorry if I’m… interrupting something.” Richie says awkwardly, looking smaller than Eddie's ever seen him.

Eddie looks at Stan, then back to Richie. “It’s nothing.” He says bitterly. Then he softens. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

Richie shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Plus, I want to watch you practice. If that’s… okay.”

“Of course it is!” Eddie beams. “You’ve never gotten to watch me practice before. That’s alright, right, Stan?” He asks, turning to face his friend, who looks back at him with a face full of contempt.

“It’s fine.” He says tersely, and Richie scurries off to the frontmost bleacher so he can sit quietly and watch. Like usual, he enjoys the show, though it’s very different from what he’s used to- there’s no flashing lights, or music, or audience around to gasp, or children to start crying randomly. There’s only the sound of the occasional question from Eddie and small grunts as they both work, along with the chatter from behind Richie that spills from the mouths of Elliot and Beverly. He watches happily, wishing he could stay in that moment forever.

  
  


___________

The moment doesn’t last very long- he should have noticed when Elliot walked down the bleachers and passed him that it would mean that Beverly is there, right behind him, but it didn’t occur to him. Not until the aforementioned girl is sitting down next to him.

“Hello.” Beverly says, he voice light and airy, not thick with the tension that everyone else in the tent (minus Eddie) carries whenever they look at him, let alone speak to him.

Richie stares at her for a second before responding, “Hey” and feeling like an idiot.

“How are you?” She asks, then falters. “I suppose I already know the answer to that question.” She answers herself, then her gaze travels over to Eddie and Stan. “How many shows have you seen? That, I don’t know.”

“Almost every one, since I met Eddie.”

Beverly giggles. “You mean, since he broke a glass bottle over your head?”

Richie actually smiles at the memory, despite it not being a good one at the time. Now, he looks upon it with a certain fondness, thinking of Eddie’s fiery eyes and even more fiery attitude. The only thing that he had been able to do was  _ compliment  _ Eddie- he should have known he was whipped right then. “Yeah. Since then.” He assumes it’s the end of Beverly’s pity-induced conversation, but she keeps going.

“I always assumed the makeup he had me do was to impress a  _ girl.”  _ She shoulders him very lightly, so lightly that an outside observer may be under the impression that the two are close friends. “Turns out it was for you, I guess.”

Richie wants to beam, but stifles it. “He really did it for me? I assumed…”

Bev nods. “He’d get in these little moods, sometimes. He’d pull me aside and ask me to do his makeup in all sorts of showy ways because he can’t do anything too intricate himself. I never minded it. Always wanted to do it with a little sister but… Eddie will do.” She laughs. Her fingers are curled around the edges of the seat, her feet extended to rest on the row in front of them. She looks over to Richie, and raises a daring eyebrow. “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes. Why? Is that a problem? I can quit. I’ll totally-”

Bev silences him when she digs into her red jacket pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes, shaking them in her hand. “Let’s go outside.” Then her eyesight moves to Eddie, and then comes back. “Unless you want to watch  _ Eddie.” _ She says in a tone that would be mocking if anyone in the Bower’s gang said it, but sounded much more genuine and happy coming from her.

Richie considers staying, but he’s on a roll with Beverly and he doesn’t want to ruin it by saying no. He could honestly use a cigarette, anyway. Getting up with Bev, he waves Eddie a quick goodbye that he returns with a slightly confused expression, and then follows her out the tent. He looks around anxiously, as if something would pop out at him. His car is gone, by now. He had his ice cream truck, and he honestly didn’t feel like pressing charges, so he had just called someone on a payphone and scrapped the whole thing. They didn’t ask questions since Eddie helped Richie peel off the offensive words until they were unrecognizable, and now the car is gone without a trace. He doesn’t mind too much. The only good memories he had in it were with Eddie, and now he’s  _ living _ with him.

“I knew he was doing it for  _ somebody,  _ you know?” Beverly starts putting a cigarette in her mouth and then handing Richie one. She lights him first, then herself. “He thinks you’re special.” She says, almost flippantly as she looks ahead of herself.

The words make Richie reel a bit, staring at Bev’s side profile with a slight awe at the words coming out of her mouth. Even dating Eddie now didn’t feel real, as if it were never possible that Eddie reciprocated feelings, but hearing about how he  _ did  _ gives him a fuzzy, happy feeling that he wants to live in. “He...”

“Richie, I don’t think you’re that bad.” Bev turns her head to look at him, her eyes burning with sincerity. “You gave those first aid supplies and you didn’t even tell me your name. Eddie didn’t even know your name. You were just… sorry.”

“I thought you forgot.” admits Richie. She never gave any indication that she didn’t hate him until now… Or maybe Richie had just convinced himself that she didn’t.

“Not many of us think you’re that bad, actually. We just know Stan does and… well, you can’t blame us for taking his side, can you?”

“No, I deserve the treatment I’m getting.”

“Just a little.” laughs Bev, but it’s lighthearted enough that Richie doesn’t take offense. He wouldn’t, irregardless, but her airy treatment makes him feel like he’s a bit less shitty than he is. “But, Stan will come around. Okay? I know he will. What you did to him was… horrible. And it might take him a bit. But if Eddie sees the good in you, Stan will follow. They’re just like that. And in the meantime…”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a friend in me.”

Richie smiles. “You’re cool, Bev. Cooler than I thought you were. And I already saw you gauge out Bowers’ eyeballs with your nails without even chipping the polish.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” She asks, a sly smirk creeping up on her lips. She takes a draw of her cigarette and blows it out, away from Richie’s face before she looks back at him to speak again. “I chipped them a little bit.”

  
  


___________

Eddie walks back to his room, thoroughly exhausted from a long day of practicing. He sees Richie sitting on the edge of his bed, and audibly exhales. “Hey, ‘Chee.” Eddie says wearily, grabbing pajamas from his dresser.

“Eddie Spaghetti! You’ll never guess what happened today!” Richie says, practically bouncing up upon greeting. He smiles widely, and Eddie remembers what he looks like when he’s hopeful. Bright and happy, ten times over.

“What?” He humors, sitting down next to him and unravelling the wrap from his palms.

“Beverly and I spoke today. An actual conversation.. And we bonded- I think we’re friends, now!” Richie smiles, and Eddie could see how bad he wanted that. To be a part of a family, to have friends that really did care. Eddie had never had any sort of formal conversation with them, but he figured the gang wasn’t the type to ask how Richie was feeling. 

He could see how badly he wanted the circus to like him. “Richie, that’s great!” He stops for a moment to kiss him, but it falls on grinning lips (Not that he minds). “See, I told you. I knew they’d love you, you just have to give them a little time.” He drops the old wrap in a trash can and stands up to get dressed. Richie had already changed into his pajamas. 

He’d gone with Mike earlier to pick up everything he needed from his apartment and put it in a duffle bag, which was now sat on the floor at the end of his bed. Richie had told him all about it once they got back- about how it was apparently  _ very _ awkward and silent, the whole way through. Mike wasn’t hostile, or anything. Just quiet and observing. It almost made Richie give up hope on trying to be friends with him, claiming that “If I get put with a member of the circus alone for over an _ hour _ and we still don’t talk, then I have no hope, Eds.”

“Yeah. Maybe you were right.” Richie notes, pulling back the covers for him. Eddie just noticed that his bed was made.  _ Oh. _ He thinks simply. Because he never has the time to make his own bed, even if the rest of his room was usually clean. He smiles to himself, sure that if he pointed it out, Richie would make up some sort of excuse.

“Maybe?” He says incredulously, falling into Richie’s arms and nestling under the covers.

“Okay,” He says, giving in and giving him a kiss on the forehead. “You were definitely right.”

  
  


___________

Eddie wakes up in Richie’s arms. He looks at the clock next to him, and reads eight-thirty.

_ Stan didn’t wake me up early. _ He turns to look at Richie and decides he’ll stay in bed for just a minute longer, lodging his forehead into the crook of his neck, and Richie subconsciously pulling him closer. 

___________

Richie usually stays in Eddie’s room, or watches him practice from the bleachers. He’s fine with either option, but sometimes wishes he could just…  _ interact _ with everyone and the circus in the way everybody around him could. Maybe it was the lack of job, or the lack of an actual need to be there. The only person in a remotely similar situation to him he could think of was Joyce, pursuing a relationship at the beginning of her time here. But it’s not like that was the only reason she was there, from what Eddie tells him, she’s a damn good manager that has booked them some fantastic gigs. She’s more than her attempt with Bill, and she’s more than her relationships.

Richie, not so much. His entire purpose (if he could call it that) at the circus was just to stay there and be safer than he was at his apartment. It made him feel like an asshole, which is why he jumped at every opportunity to help, regardless of if it was double-checking Joyce’s calculations or helping a janitor sweep the floor after a particularly messy crowd.

He doesn’t think twice when Ben asks him for help backstage. “I just need an assistant for the first two acts,” Ben had explained. “Bev usually does it, but she’s… helping somebody else right now.” His rationalization seemed a bit off to Richie, and he minutely hoped it was because Ben actually wanted him to help. To have an actual reason to be here, for a change.

Or maybe he was just a bit scared around Richie.

Ben had led him backstage, and was now explaining the set-up. He pointed to the lights, the spotlight, and the plastic covers that go over them to change the color and sometimes pattern. He taught him how the music worked, and how important it was that it was on time, no matter what. Richie picked it all up pretty quickly.

“This is your first time working with tech, right?” Ben asks, slightly incredulous.

“Yeah.” Richie nods, and then pauses. “No, well, actually… I’m not sure that it counts, but I drive an ice cream truck. It’s got speakers and shit, but nothing like this.”

Ben snorts. “Really?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

Ben looks side to side, as though weighing out the likelihood of whether or not he was lying. “It just seems so… Innocent. If you had told me it was like, a front for something, I would have believed  _ that.” _ He says sarcastically, turning around to grab something off of the floor.

Richie laughs nervously. “W-what? No. No way, man, that stuff’s illegal.” He clears his throat, thankful Ben couldn’t see his face. He was never good at lying to nice people. He thought for a moment in their silence, struggling to come up with a topic they would both relate to. “So, Beverly’s a total badass, right? I mean, the way she just totally fucked up Bowers was…” He lets out a low whistle.

Ben turns back to him. “You’re not like...into my girlfriend, are you?”

Richie stares at him for a second, trying to determine whether he was joking or not. “Yes, Ben. You caught me- I uprooted my  _ entire life _ just to get close to Beverly. I’m actually just manipulating Eddie so I have a way into the circus, and therefore to her. You got me.” He says, throwing his palms in the air as if the police had ordered him to. Ben laughs for a moment, and Richie joins in. 

Then his face goes serious, almost stoic in a flash. “You’re kidding, right? Like, that was a joke?”

Richie looks at him. “No, I actually just risked and ruined my entire life to bang a girl I’ve met once.”

Silence.

_ “Yes, Ben, _ it was a joke.”

His smile returns. “No, yeah, that’s… That’s what I thought.”

Richie grins widely and apprehensively. “Uh-huh.” He turns and sees Bev walking over, with glitter all on the back of her left hand, reflecting and bouncing light. Ben looks at her like she was all he could ever ask for, like she was all he’d ever need.

Richie wonders why that look felt a bit familiar.

“Hey, Rich!” She says as she stands up on her tiptoes to peck Ben on the cheek. “Are you helping Ben right now?”

“Oh, no, we were just finishing up. He’s all yours.” Richie smiles, and gestures to him before walking away. He spins around a moment later, “Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for showing me all that- I’d love to assist you during a show sometime.”

Ben smiles widely, an award-winning smile. “Anytime.”

___________

Richie’s sat through tons of performances before- twenty-three, according to the ticket stubs sitting in his glove box.

But this one feels different, somehow. Watching Eddie catch all the light in the world, refracting it in rainbows, knowing the only reason he did that was specifically for Richie… Made it a bit harder to sit through a whole performance.

He survived, incredibly, through an hour of performances and twenty minutes of the crowd leaving around him. He saw Eddie emerge from backstage, wearing pajamas regardless of the makeup he hasn’t removed. He was a mismatch of formality, and Richie couldn’t love it more.

“Hey, Spaghetti!” He said, pulling him in by the hips as soon as he was close enough. “You did really good on your set today.”

“I’ve told you a million times not to call me that, asshole.” He smiled, playfully smacking Richie on the arm and leaving his hands furled up on his chest.

“Ah, I know, I know, I just can’t help myself.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“Around you. At all. As in, I  _ really  _ would like to take you under the bleachers. Right now.”

Eddie looked at him with a look Richie realized was curated just for him- a 200% mixture of annoyance and adoration. “Asshat, just ask like a normal person next time.” He rolls his eyes, pulling Richie by the collar of his jacket until they were underneath the metal seats, and much closer than they could have been, given the floor space around them.

“Hi.” Richie says, quickly realizing he should have taken off his glasses. 

“Hi.” Eddie giggles into Richie’s jaw,  _ closer and closer and closer. _

“H-“ Richie almost repeats, cut off by the soft embrace of Eddie’s lips.

Richie was an amnesiac with an addiction when it came to his lips, every connection reminding him just how much more he needed, and every distancing making him forget just how good they were. The longer the distance, the greater his demand.

Eddie’s lips were a thing of wonder, really, warm and sweet, and putting secondhand glitter onto Richie’s mouth and face (not that he would ever find it in himself to give a damn). Securing glitter off-centered in the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and  _ oh. _ Eddie’s moved down to his neck, and it’s different and great and  _ close, close, close. _

Sure, Richie’s been with girls before, hasn’t everybody? But when he was with them, it wasn’t even in the same  _ caliber _ as this. Not by a mile. He hardly ever “got off” to girls, but Eddie, pressing his lips on his neck, hot and open-mouthed, was enough to make his eyelashes flutter, his heart speed up. Eddie’s hands swept through his hair, pulling him closer with his arms on Richie’s shoulders, his feet bumping into Richie’s as he stood on his tiptoes.

  
  


And it’s everything to him.

___________

Eddie is giggling adorably as he pulls Richie out from under the bleachers. Richie likes the thrill of sneaking around, even though they were not at all subtle and were very loud and anyone in the same room as them could probably hear them occasionally pause to shout at the other. To anyone who didn’t know better, it might sound like they were fighting. It felt a little rude to be so blatant about his relationship with a boy in front of everyone, but he gets a certain level of comfort from knowing that they aren’t mad about the fact that Eddie’s a guy rather than the fact that Richie is an asshole. He can live with that.

“I feel like we’re gonna get caught by the principal or something.” Eddie jokes. He yelps a bit as Richie catches him by the waist and pulls him closer, giving him another kiss on the cheek. 

“You graduated, Eds.”

“Still.” He huffs. He returns a kiss to Richie and gets a bit carried away with his smooches, planting them all over his face that’s already sticky with lip gloss. “You are covered in my makeup. How’d that even happen?”

“I wonder.” Richie replies flatly, and Eddie laughs again. He’s about to say something when-

“Holy  _ fuck!”  _ Eddie hears, and jumps out of Richie’s arm on instinct. The loud shout turned out to be only from Stan, and Eddie finds himself already getting closer to Richie. His heart is beating fast, though- for a moment, he had thought that it was the gang again, considering how  _ angry  _ the voice seemed.

“Stan? What’s-” Eddie begins, despite being a little frazzled.

“No! Shut up!”

“Why are you-”

“I said shut up! You are infuriating!”

“Why are you acting so fucking weird?” Eddie snaps. He didn’t know how he got so angry so fast, but he feels like a pot of boiling water that just got it’s lid released. Stan has been horrible to Richie, and although Eddie understands, the constant beratement of the both of them has turned from a rightful grudge to a spiteful hate.

“Weird? WEIRD?” Stan parrots incredulously. “You’re running around and fucking giggling with a guy we all thought you hated until a few days ago!”

“Shut up, Stan!” He says defensively.

“Eddie.” Richie says with a frown. Eddie knows that Richie detests the fact that Eddie and Stan’s relationship has been rocky since his arrival, but Eddie is insistent he’ll fix it, no matter what.

“If you want to talk about ‘weird’, I’m all for it! My best friend didn’t talk to me for months and was running around, doing god knows what after I was almost killed!” Stan shouts. His arms are moving around to further his point, but his angry tone doesn’t distract from the obvious hurt in his voice that Richie feels a certain guilt to have caused. He sometimes wishes he could leave, but he wouldn’t want to have to make Eddie choose between him and Stan. Richie’s’s not sure if it’s because he’s scared Eddie will pick Stan, or because he knows he won’t. “And turns out- guess what he was doing?- he was running around with the guy who was HOLDING THE FUCKING KNIFE! And now that guy is living with us!” Stan gestures to Richie, like he’s a thing rather than an actual person.

“Okay, Stan. You’re right! But, please, just listen-”

“I don’t feel safe fucking sleeping in my own home, Eddie!” Stan continues. His voice cracks on ‘home’, sounding wet and vulnerable. “This has always been a place where I felt safe and protected, and I don’t anymore.” It’s as if all the anger inside Eddie vanished, melting away to a puddle on the floor that needed to be wiped up along with the peanut shells. “You want to talk about weird things? I hated this guy up until two days ago, and now, supposedly, you two are in love! And I’m just supposed to be cool with it? How is that fair?

“It’s… Stan. We should talk. Please?”

“No. I’m done talking to you.” Stan says harshly, and then turns in a ninety degree angle and walks off.

___________

Bill sits at his bed, attempting to fold a lion out of a popcorn bag, demoing it for Georgie. He looks up at Stan as he enters the room, dropping the failed origami. “Hey, babe,” He says, rubbing his back and pulling him in. Stan immediately nestles up to his shoulder like it’s second nature. “Are you okay?”

Stan exhales slowly as he speaks. “Yeah. I just got into a fight with Eddie.”

Bill nods. “I heard bits and pieces. Thin walls.” He explains, placing his chin on the top of Stan’s head. “What was it about?”

Stan shakes his head, paused by Bill’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat. He tried to match his breathing to it, just to help him calm down. “That asshole had Eddie’s makeup smudged all over him, and they were under the bleachers, right in front of everybody!”

He paused. “That’s it?”

Stan looks up at him. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”

Bill looks down at him with as much love as he can fit into his confusion. “Lovebird,” He started kindly. “We literally did that exact same thing. The second time we kissed. The first time we made out.”

Stan’s mouth is open in objection, his brows pulled down and his top lip up, as if the bridge of his nose were the center of gravity on his face. 

“I know,” He continued, cutting him off. “That you hate him. And I get it, I do. He was holding the fucking knife.”

“But?”

_ “But, _ he was willing to die for Eddie, for all of us. He sacrificed himself without a second thought as long as it meant he- and we- were safe. That’s got to count for something, right? You can visibly  _ see  _ the difference from when he’s around that gang and when he’s around Eddie. He’s only afraid one of those times, Stan.”

“Bill…”

“I’m not saying that what he did wasn’t awful, or one of the scariest things I’ve ever been through.” He added quietly. “Even if it was juh-just second-hand. I’m just saying that he picked death over anybody else getting hurt again.”

Stan pulls himself off of Bill reluctantly, but he knows he can’t hide with him forever. He sighs. “I have to go apologize to Eddie, don’t I?” He says, already knowing the answer.

“And Richie.” Bill adds.

Stann huffs and crinkles his nose, but despite his physical reaction, he begrudgingly agrees, “And Richie…”

___________

When Stan finds Eddie and Richie, he’s not surprised that they’re together in Eddie’s room, sitting across from each other and talking about something that immediately ceases when Stan knocks on the makeshift door, then moves it aside to come in.

“Hey.” He says quietly, feeling stupid.

“Stan.” Eddie answers breathlessly, like he can’t believe Stan is there. It makes him feel more dumb- his best friend shouldn’t hold his presence with reverence- it should be natural and normal, and Stan hates that it’s not.

“Can I… sit?”

“Yeah, man.” It’s Richie who says this, and it’s Richie who scooches over to give room for Stan.

Stan stares at him, and he has the feeling that his expression may look like one of someone who just watched a war criminal help an old lady cross the street, but he manages to sit himself down anyway. For the sake of Eddie. If Richie and Stan never agree on anything else, that’s fine, but they’ll always be people who love Eddie. The thought settles strangely with Stan- the “always” part. There’s a chance that Richie and Eddie would break up, but strangely, it doesn’t seem likely to Stan. He tries to imagine a scenario, but he can’t. He just ends up feeling like an asshole. “Bill thinks I should apologize.” Stan says. Upon Eddie’s dejected face, he continues, “And I do, too. I’m here to say I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “To both of you.”

“You don’t-”

Stan holds up a hand to stop Richie. “I do.” He admits. “I haven’t given you a chance, even though you’ve earned it.” He looks Richie in the eyes without seeming like he hates his guts for the first time. “When your- when  _ Bowers’  _ gang attacked me, I thought they were going to kill me. I thought that  _ you  _ were. And when they were in here, I thought they were going to kill Eddie. There was no way any of us could have stopped them. One move and all Connor would have had to do was slice. And then you came out of nowhere… and I was so scared… and I was sure I was going to lose my best friend. That I was going to have to watch him die.” Stan is crying. It makes him want to shrink away, but he doesn’t want to keep running.

“But-” Eddie interrupts.

“And then you were saying… the  _ exact  _ opposite of what I thought you would. You were saying that you love him, that you’d kill Connor, and then you were offering up your life for him and I was just… so confused. And that’s all I’ve been able to focus on: how confusing this all his. How I hated you one second, and how I thought Eddie did, too, but it wasn’t true. How I thought you were an entirely different person than you are… That you would do things to me and my family that, now, I know you wouldn’t do.”

“I wouldn’t ever hurt you. Not again. I’m so glad that I’m not a part of their stupid gang, and I’m not listening to everything Henry says. Being here is so much better. It’s… incomparable. I promise you that you never have to worry about me. Okay?”

“...Okay.” Stan says slowly. “It’s going to take me some time to get used to you, let alone trust you, but if Eddie says you’re worth getting to know, then you gotta be.” Stan nods and sniffles, sucking in a sob. His breath hitches slightly and he wipes his eyes with the back of one hand as Eddie grabs his other, looking at him with a sad smile. 

“Thank you, Stan.”

Stan smiles at Eddie, but looks sternly to Richie. “I still don’t like you, though.” He says. It’s a half joke.

Whatever it is, Richie laughs, and Stan is hit with the realization that when he had seen Richie holding the knife, he hadn’t been smiling or laughing like the others in the gang.

___________

Richie sits where he always does and always has; on the third bleacher to the front, all the way to the right. He’s sat there every performance, so while waiting for Eddie, it’s no surprise that Georgie knows exactly where to find him.

He stomps up, making the metal reverberate under his feet as loudly as he possibly could. “Richie!” He exclaims, his voice a hundred times happier than the demeanor his stomping had given off. “What’s wrong?”

Richie looks at Georgie, the cutest kid he’d ever met. At his mousy brown hair that had a hint of a curl, at his wide brown eyes that held all the happiness in the world. It felt like just yesterday he had given him the two cents. It felt like just yesterday he fell in love with the circus. “Nothing, buddy. What’s up with you?”

Georgie pouts and ignores his question. “Something’s wrong! I know it because whenever you’re sad, you bite on the end of your glasses.”

“Do I?” He hadn’t noticed himself. 

Georgie nods. “You should stop doing that, by the way. It’ll hurt your teeth, and the tooth fairy doesn’t come if it’s your own fault the tooth falls out.” He says wisely, as though he were an expert on the matter.

“Is that so?” Georgie nods again in response. Richie sighs. “I guess I’m just sad because nobody here really wants to be my friend because I was very rude to them a while ago.” He says cautiously, not entirely sure how much he knew about Stan.

Georgie thinks for a moment, putting on his ‘concentrating face’ for the first time in front of Richie. It made his heart melt, and he realized he’d do anything on this Earth for Georgie Denbrough. He remembered Eddie telling him about how he’d invited him into the circus’ family, and how he was the first person he loved regardless of blood. Richie wondered if this was almost an initiation process for the circus; Once Georgie made you feel welcome, you were a part of the family. He made a mental note to ask Bev, Ben, Kay- everybody in the circus, really, if they shared this experience. “Whenever Billy’s mean to me,” He says, dropping the concentrating face and now looking much more excited. “He’ll do something nice after, even if it’s small. Like, one time, he lost my boat, and it was the first boat I ever made. He said sorry a lot, but I was really sad. Then, he took me out to get a treat, and he said a much longer sorry than before. That always makes me feel better, and it especially worked the first time!”

Richie looks at Georgie thoughtfully. “I think I get what you’re saying.” He says with a snap of his fingers and stands up. “Thank you, Georgie!”

Georgie smiles after him. “Does this mean you’re getting me a treat?” He yells, cupping his hands around his mouth.

___________

Richie storms into the tent holding as much ice cream as humanly possible. Luckily, everyone is somewhere in the room, either on the bleachers or the stage or roaming about. Richie tries not to think that it has everything to do with his previous absence. Regardless, him storming into the place with two armfuls of free treats gets the attention of the circus residents.

“Hey! Everyone listen up!” Richie shouts out, for good measure. Everyone is looking, now, with various expressions of confusion, except for Eddie, who looks fond, and Georgie, who looks ecstatic. “Eds is  _ very _ thorough about everyone’s allergies, but has never once mentioned anyone being lactose intolerant! And thus! I brought you all ice cream!” He releases the treats and they clatter to the ground, a shower of ice cream sandwiches, popsicles, frozen cones, and pre-packaged cups. Everyone is still mostly just blinking at him, save Georgie, who is at his feet in a second and grabbing two of the wrapped packages before running off to go play on more equipment he shouldn’t be touching.

“Did you… rob an ice cream truck?” Kay asks slowly, her eyebrows pinched together.

“No. I  _ own  _ the ice cream truck! And I don’t even use it as a front for weed anymore! So, here’s the ice cream! Eat it, because you all hate me, and I don’t like it!” Richie doesn’t expect this to work, and is prepared to be embarrassed and then have to shamefully pick it all up, but Beverly comes forward.

“Thanks, Richie!” She says. She stands by him, looking down at the pile of wrapped goods before bending down and picking up one cone and unwrapping it. Elliot follows, expressing his own gratitude, and then suddenly there’s a swarm around Richie and the pile, crouching by it and pushing stuff around like kids going through Halloween candy. This is the most any of them have ever talked to him at once ever, even if only to just say thank you. Eddie waits to be last, and picks up two- the only person not to take anything is Stan; Eddie just smiles at Richie before making his way over to his best friend, extending the ice cream as a silent offering of peace. Stan eyes it, but ultimately takes it. It’s a sandwich. Eddie knows that Stan can’t resist ice creamy goodness.

They don’t talk as Eddie begins to eat his popsicle, but the silence isn’t the tense silence that Eddie was scared of getting used to.

“I’m still mad at you.” Stan says. Eddie’s heart sinks- he didn’t come here to start another fight. “But…”

“But?” Eddie says hopefully.

“But, I’ll get over it.” Stan sighs. “You love him. And he, evidently, loves you… so he can’t be as stupid as I think.” He takes a bite of his ice cream. “And the ice cream doesn’t hurt.”

“He’s pretty easy on the eyes, too, huh?” Eddie adds.

Stan narrows his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Don’t push it.” Then he pauses. “I just have a question.”

“Yes?”

“He really owns an ice cream truck?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Cool. Follow up question. As your best friend, this is my duty to ask.”

“Hit me.”

“Did you blow him in the ice cream truck?”

Eddie’s eyes widen in shock and then he bursts out laughing, eternally grateful to have his friend back. This is how friends are supposed to behave when you get a boyfriend and fall in love, not hate you endlessly. “No... No, I didn’t.” Eddie says, almost wistfully. He shrugs, then adds, as flippantly as possible, “But he definitely blew me.”

___________

Georgie is sitting next to Richie with melted Fudgesicle all over his mouth and hands, contentedly licking his ice cream with a smile. Eddie picked a Rocketpop, just like last time, and he was sitting in between Richie’s legs and leaning on his chest, holding hands with the arm wrapped around his waist.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Richie!” Georgie says excitedly, the sugar apparently already kicking in. This was followed by a round of ‘thank you’s, some much more energetic than the rest, yet all of them made Richie feel warm and happy inside, like he finally belonged to somewhere. He looks at Eddie. To  _ someone. _

He was wanted, and not for cheap drugs or a first punch, but for ice cream, at  _ least _ . It was better knowing that the only reason he was there was for his ice cream truck rather than it was thinking that he was only there out of moral obligation.

Beverly sticks out her tongue at him, and he knows they’re friends.

Ben tilts his (vanilla) cone towards him in a cheering motion, and he knows they’re friends.

Joyce, Mike, Kay, and Elliot all motioned another ‘thanks’ at him, signalling the start of some new friendships.

Bill nudged Stan, who gave him a reluctant smile. And he knows they’ll be friends… eventually. 

He kisses Eddie on the nose, aiming for the mouth and missing, who immediately complained about the sugar, and how he was all sticky now and didn’t even have a wet wipe to properly clean it. He elbows Richie in the ribcage before he could even think about saying _ “That’s what she said.” _ Richie hears him laugh quietly anyway.

“So,” Joyce said, interrupting the quiet that had fallen once everyone opened their ice creams. “Now that everyone is here and quiet,” She throws a pointed, joking glance at Georgie, who giggles. “I should probably mention that I got us another gig, and it’s a pretty good one.”

“Where?” Mike asks from above (or more accurately, around) her. “Bangor? Hampden?”

She shakes her head. “Augusta.” 

That was the biggest city in Maine, and Eddie's told Richie before about just how impossible it was to book there. It was a little over seventy miles away.

Eddie looks over at Richie immediately. “Can Richie come?” He asked quickly, as though he didn’t have the time to think about it.

Bill did. He thought about it and thought about it, leaving everyone in a much fuller silence before turning to Stan. “Wuh-what do you think, dove?”

Stan thought too, but just for a fraction of the time it had taken Bill. “Only if he brings the ice cream truck.” He decides.

Richie grins wider than the rest of the circus has ever seen. “Deal.”


	7. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you everybody so much for reading! writing this fic has honestly been so fun and all of the comments and kudos and hits really made it worth it. niiiiix and i have some more works planned for the future, so this is not the last you'll see from us! it's going to be stenbrough set in a soulmate au. keep an eye out! thank you again for reading and enjoying xox

Richie is finishing setting up the menu on the platform at the bottom of the ice cream truck window- it’s a little small, so someone couldn’t read it unless they were first or second in line, but there was a larger version hanging outside on the front of it. The truck itself has the words “The Losers’ Ice Cream” painted on it in neat gold lettering by Kay. Richie had spent an hour staring at it, ecstatic on how it made him feel like a real business owner. That, added with the fact that he got a proper license to drive a truck, and to sell ice cream from it, and he was basically the CEO of his own company.

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He wears jeans, not a suit, and the closest he is to having a note-taking secretary is when Georgie lays on the floor of the truck with markers and paper to draw pictures of superheroes.

Just as Richie smiles at his perfect display, a head pops by the window and peers in. It’s Stan, who rests his chin on the ledge and looks up to Richie, his face shaded by the vehicle but the rest of his body still standing in sunlight. “Hurry up, dickwad. Eddie’s waiting inside. We told you we were doing this today!” Stan disappears to the right, and then suddenly the back doors of the truck are opened, allowing the light of the sun to spill in except for the area where Stan casts his shadow.

Richie laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Calm your tits, I’m coming!”- and flips Stan off, who looks at him with a disapproving look before stepping back and beginning to walk, fully expecting Richie to follow him. Richie pulls the window cover down and locks it and then hops down out of the truck, making sure to lock the doors of that, too. Stan is waiting, cross-armed.

“What took you so long?”

“I was going down on your mom.” Richie retaliates, throwing his arm around Stan’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to think about my mother like that.”

“Oh, but Stanny,  _ I _ do.” He wiggles his eyebrows as Stan lets out a guffaw, shoving Richie away with his opposite arm with his smile still gleaming on his face.

“Remind me why you’re still here?”

“Because I’m the light of your life.”

Stan is going to say something, most likely, but Bill comes up next to him. Over the past year, the two haven’t changed much- Stan now keeps his hair slightly longer so his curls are more pronounced, and the light from the sun made his hair a shade lighter. A year of continuous exercise also kept him fit, and it did the same for Bill. Bill is taller now, which is the most notable change, if only by an inch. One would think he’d stop growing, but the boy is like a giant- at this rate, Richie thinks he could be ringmaster  _ and  _ an act for ‘The World’s Longest and Lankiest Man’. He brought this up to Bill once, but Bill just called him a dickwad. He and Stan have that in common.

“Are you torturing Stan?” Bill asks, looping his arm around Stan’s protectively. His voice is that of a disapproving father who is lecturing their child for teasing a sibling.

Richie brings his hand to his chest and feigns distress. “I’d never!”

“Go over to Eddie. He’s waiting for you.” Stan sighs before Bill tugs him away and off somewhere.

Richie scans the room. The first thing he sees is Mike and Joyce together, Mike’s arm around Joyce’s shoulder as he lays against him. Despite the dull roar of the circus chatter, Mike is reading a book out loud to her, his lips moving, creating sounds that Joyce listens to with fondness. Her finger traces a line up and down his arm repeatedly, but it looks absent minded, as all her focus seems to be on Mike’s face. He keeps looking and sees the group of Beverly, Ben, Kay, and Elliot, who are all sitting together. Elliot and Ben seem to be lost in a conversation about something Richie can’t hear, and both of Elliot’s hands are held out next to him as Beverly and Kay paint his nails. His right hand, with Beverly, is being coated in red as his other hand is given an eccentric neon green. Richie wonders if Elliot will keep it and deduces that he probably will. 

When Richie’s eyes finally land on Eddie, he’s in his natural habitat: on stage, grinning. Richie returns the smile as he hops up on stage and walks over to Eddie, wrapping his arms around him and immediately pulling him into a kiss. It’s nothing heated, but when they pull back, Richie chases it with a few more smooches to Eddie’s cheeks before fully letting go.

“Don’t think the kissing will distract me.” Eddie says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re late to class. You made your classmate wait. And on the first day, no less!”

Richie looks to his left and down, his eyes landing on Georgie, who is looking up to him. “You missed warmups, slowpoke.”

“Slowpoke?” Richie asks. “I’m not seventy!”

“I’m glad one person is taking these lessons seriously.” Eddie teases, raising his eyebrows. Since Georgie wouldn’t stop begging for lessons as soon as Beverly put the idea in his head, Eddie had decided it was only time for him to learn how to do the silks- and Richie, too.

“Yeah? If this is so serious, what’s the class name then, huh? Aerial silks, and other ways to fall?” Richie teases back, crinkling his nose. 

“Yeah.” Eddie says softly, stepping closer to Richie. He grabs his hand in both of his, staring into his eyes- he likes how Richie looks at him, like he’s the only person in the entire world; he constantly looks lovesick, and Eddie knows he looks the same way. He brings Richie’s hand up to his lips and kisses it before allowing him to have it back. Kissing him became so natural, now, that he almost doesn’t believe that they once had been too scared to be seen together, too scared to tell the other how they feel. Terrifying and unmanageable, the real world once felt like no place for Eddie, with no real future or purpose- but now, though he can’t know what each day brings, he knows that he’ll be with Richie and the rest of his family. And that’s all that matters. A large, dopey, love-struck smile spreads across his face before he speaks again. “To fall in love.”


End file.
